Blood on Antiques
by Thor
Summary: Chapter 3 now up. A different type of Detroit tale. Prince Steven's household is examined as he deals with multiple threats to his reign.
1. Part the First: The Coming of Night

Welcome once again gentle reader. It is I, Thor, with yet another of my ever multiplyng tales of Detroit. This story is a bit of a departure for me, I for some reason got a few ideas that were not within my usual style. For starters this tale contains less action and more talking. (Yes, it is apparently possible for me to write a story without killing someone every page!) In fact this story is rather closer to Bram Stoker then I have ever dared to go before. Also (and please forgive me) I touch on some big themes here (i.e. world shattering items. I pray you can bear with me on this one as I usually don't like to press the upper limits of any power scale.) Third and finally, the main characters are human. I know I've never done that before, but I think I did an acceptable job of it. As this story is such a leap for me please offer your opinions on it, I'd love to get some feedback on what I'm doing. In any case, please read on and discover the.......

Blood on Antiques: A Tale of Detroit 

Part the First: The Coming of Night 

The sign above the door announced the building as 'Tintegal Family Antique Dealers'. It was an older building, comprised of carved stones as opposed to poured cement. The single window displayed only a single piece of jewelry, a small broach, surrounded by an arrangement of blue flowers and silver ribbons. The broach was a simple oval, and featured a small ivory silhouette of a stately elderly man.

Inside the building was a massive display room. Dozens of gleaming cases showcased pieces of art and culture from across the world. In one lay an intricate jeweled egg, along with a golden scarab necklace. Pieces obtained from the excavation of the Egyptian city of Hamanaptra. Nearby was a tall case containing a worn and battered sword, a gladius of a Roman soldier. Further back was a tall cabinet, the dark wood polished to a lustrous sheen. A perfectly restored Victorian dresser from the summer palace of Louis VI. Along the walls were rows of paintings and tapestries, each with a small plaque describing their history.

A gleaming wooden staircase spiraled up to allow access to the upper floor. Home to the offices of the owners and their staff. Behind the stairs was a small doorway that opened into a large work area. The room is filled with crates, some opened, some not. Dozens of dusty and worn pieces of furniture lay around the room. A large metal table sits in the center, littered with a swarm of small and dusty items. Each sitting on a small cushion, and apparently awaiting inspection. A smaller table and section is devoted to finished works. The dusty and worn, restored to their full beauty and former glory.

The lone occupant of the room muttered as she looked down at one of the pieces sitting before her. Large almond colored eyes squinted as she carefully moved the small pair of clippers in her hand. Her soft lips smiled suddenly as another section of the rotting case peeled away from the parchment within. The document case had been stored in a damp and musty cellar, it had been a small miracle that the vellum inside hadn't begun to rot. However, it was still fragile, and encased in the rotting remains of its case. She breathed out carefully as she gingerly maneuvered the tweezers held in her other hand over to a new bit of the case. The clippers were carefully positioned, and checked no less then eight times, before she made another small cut.

Her eyes danced with joy as she slowly peeled up some more of the case. Revealing below the soft golden sheen of the rolled up documents within. Another careful snip, and she finished. Mia leaned back to admire her work. The case had been peeled back, and cut away enough, that now it was hopefully possible to draw the vellum sheets out from inside without hurting them. She ran a hand through the short shock of dark hair on her head as she eyed the piece. Grinning with excitement she slid on a pair of plastic gloves as she carefully looked over the papers. Assured of how to move them she gently placed one hand on them, and another on the remains of the case. Proceeding at a rate that would bore a snail, Mia ever so carefully drew the papers forth from their rotting prison. 

She frowned at the obvious rotting damage done to the other end of the papers, apparently it had been wet enough to damage them. But the remainder of the documents were unharmed. She gingerly placed them within a special oil bath, allowing their natural supple nature time to return. Mia gently began to unfold and separate the pages from one another. There were three, all still maintaining their original inking and dyes. Some running had occurred near the bottom of each page, but Mia suspected she could restore at least half of the damaged text. She placed the papers on a special porous stone to allow them to dry. Mia sighed and arced her stiff neck. She glanced up at the clock on the wall, it was almost midnight.

"Time to close up I guess."

She reached down and pushed her wheelchair gently away from her work table. She turned and rolled it over to the doors to her workspace. Mrs. Tintagel had been very accommodating in transforming the old storage area into a place for Mia to perform her work on restoring and researching antiques. After all, Mia wouldn't have been comfortable with gutting part of the historic house in order to put in an elevator to the upper offices. Not that she was sure Mrs. Tintagel would have been interested in footing that bill, no matter how talented here new employee. She wheeled out into the display area and began to flip off the individual displays lights.

"Am I to take it that I'm late?"

Mia jerked her head up in surprise at the voice. She twisted around to look at a tall figure standing in the shadows of the entryway.

"Who are you," she asked timidly.

"A customer, Mrs. Tintagel mentioned that I might be interested in a certain chalice."

"The Stromheim?"

"Yes, would you mind?"

Mia felt as though each of his words washed over her like warm waves. She could feel a strange fluttering in her chest, as if her heart was beating three times faster then normal. Mia could feel the heat of a blush forming on her pale face as she realized she hadn't answered the man yet.

"Not at all, come in."

The man who stepped from the shadows perfectly fitted the urbane and cultured voice that Mia had heard. He was dressed in an elegant dark blue designer suit. His finely trimmed black beard and slicked back hair framed his refined and gentle face. He smiled as his dark eyes seemed to flash with hidden mysteries. He walked into the room, lightly tapping his gleaming black walking stick on the polished wooden floor.

"Mrs. Tintagel hadn't mentioned a buyer might come for the piece tonight," said Mia as she wheeled back to the sellers desk. She easily maneuvered her chair around behind it. The man shrugged slightly and let out a small flash of smile.

"My schedule is difficult, I come when I can." The stranger elegantly slid into the leather chair on the other side of the desk. Mia quickly began to pull out the authentication forms and other information on the chalice.

"As I'm sure Mrs. Tintagel mentioned to you, the chalice was uncovered in an unknown room of the Stromheim family house in Germany. It has been authenticated as being of the early 1400's, and has been well treated by the years."

Mia pulled out the box and began to open it. She pulled apart the velvet cloth that covered the silver chalice and drew it forth. She held it in front of the stranger as he carefully eyed the piece.

"If I were you, I'm not sure I'd bother without renegotiating the price," said Mia."

"Indeed," said the man as he cocked an eyebrow, "why not?"

"Well," Mia realized she had once again gone and overstepped her bounds as appraiser and restorer. Mrs. Tintagel would not be pleased. "I'm not sure how authentic it is."

"But the papers do not seem fraudulent."

"Yes, but I think this is the work of Drevari."

"The con-artist?"

Mia grinned at the stranger, "I see you are well versed in your 15th century antiques."

"One does try, what makes you think it is a Drevari?"

"Well, he was famous for destroying some lesser items in order to create a more effective forgery, that would explain the dating. But, if you look here on the flourish under the sapphire, you'll spot that it curves inward as opposed to upward. That was a design not employed until almost 1490."

"Indeed, I also can't help but spot the lack of ribbing on the fluting."

Mia blinked her eyes in surprise, she had been about to mention the obvious superiority of tools needed to avoid the ribbing on the stem of the chalice. But for him to spot it across the table, in the dark, was impressive.

"You have an amazing eye."

"Thank you, I think I shall still buy it, but after a lowering of the price."

"Good idea, a Drevari would still be worth adding to a collection."

The man stood, Mia couldn't help but notice how smooth and graceful he moved. She suspected he was one of those people who was never caught in an embarrassing situation. He smiled a graceful and flawless grin as his hand smoothly extended towards her.

"I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

"Oh," Mia extended her hand, he raised it gently to his lips and kissed it, "I'm Mia Chasten. Mrs. Tintagel hired me about three months ago."

"So, Mia, what is it you do for Mrs. Tintagel?"

"I was hired to do restoration and identification work." Mia couldn't help but notice that he had not yet let go of her hand. His grip was firm, yet gentle, and she felt as though there was a great strength possible in those perfectly groomed hands.

"Now that you know me," she said, "may I have your name?"

"I am Steven Kleist," he gently lowered her hand and let it go. "Tell me, what piece would you suggest for me?"

"I have no idea where your interests lie."

"Make a suggestion in any case." Mia smiled at the odd request. She didn't even have to glance around the room to know exactly what was on display for sale. However all she knew of the buyer was he was educated and interested in a Germanic chalice. She supposed she could just offer him one of the other German pieces, or perhaps another chalice. Instead she grinned as she backed her wheelchair away from the desk.

"Come with me." She wheeled around and returned to her work area, he followed behind her. She wheeled over to the shelf that contained some of their newest pieces. She carefully moved the ancient Roman pottery away in order to pull a small piece of jewelry off the shelf. "I'd suggest this, it's a platinum and silver pendant from England circa 1025. It was actually worn by Olav der Hellige during his time as king of the Normans." 

"Why do you suggest it," asked Steven from the doorway.

"Because, not only is it a beautifully worked piece, and not only is it old. But their is a definite and traceable history associated with it." Mia's eyes lit up as she held the pendant before her. "We know that King Olav actually wore this, it's our connection with him. A link to the past." Steven smiled at her enthusiasm.

"Very well then, I am sold. You will prepare that piece and have it ready for sale along with the Stromheim. I shall come back in two days."

"Uh, we haven't actually slated the pendant for sale yet..."

"Don't worry, simply tell Mrs. Tintagel I wish to purchase it." Steven bowed slightly to her and turned away. Mia quickly wheeled up to the door, she peered into the display room, but Steven was already gone. 

* * *

"Mr. Kleist was here?"

"Yes," replied Mia as she slowly re-inked another small point on the parchment in front of her.

"Why did I have to hear it from his secretary and not you?"

Mia looked up at the glaring visage of Mrs. Emily Tintagel, sole owner of the Tintagel Antique empire. Emily Tintagel ran one of the most prestigious and profitable antique trading businesses in America. She had not done so by playing nice, and thus she was renowned for her temper. A temper that was now directed at her youngest employee.

"I...I'm sorry, I got distracted by the vellum restoration."

"Inexcusable, how could you have allowed him to come and then not tell me."

"But when other clients..."

"Mr. Kleist is not 'other clients'," Mrs. Tintagel stormed up till she loomed over Mia, "and what is this I hear about Drevari?" Mia swallowed nervously as she looked up at the aged and vicious woman who glared down at her.

"He, uh, I, talked about..."

"Silly girl, you should not have confused him with nonsense about your own pet theories."

"But I really think that..."

"Well I think that you are still an employee here." Mia fell instantly silent, Mrs. Tintagel had invoked the dreaded 'I think' and when she had done so there was no point in continuing to argue. "And as an employee," continued Mrs. Tintagel, "you are obligated to do what is best for my company. That does not include filling a buyers head with pointless doubts. Especially when that buyer is Mr. Kleist."

"I'm very sorry Mrs. Tintagel, it won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't, you wouldn't like the consequences. Luckily for you he seemed interested in still buying the chalice. As well as some other piece you showed him."

"Yes, the pendant of Olav..."

"It doesn't matter, prepare it for sale as well. It is to be your top priority!"

"But the other pieces..."

"Are of lesser concern, and see that you are more appropriately attired next time you greet a customer. Wandering about in torn jeans and a dirty undershirt may be allowed in America, but it is not up to the standards of my business."

"Of course, very...."

But she had already turned and stormed out. Mia sighed as the palpable tension in the room seemed to drop back to more manageable levels. Mia was always secretly pleased that Mrs. Tintagel couldn't just order a meeting in her office. At least down here it was somewhat still Mia's territory. As she wheeled over to the cabinet to fetch the pendant the door opened again. Mia glanced up as Fiona Tintagel walked in. Fiona was Emily's younger sister, and was the summer day to Emily's wintery chill.

"That went well," said Fiona cheerily.

"It did?"

"Yes, since that pendant hasn't been priced Emily can easily make up for any losses on the chalice by upping its price."

"Is he really going to buy it, just like that?"

"Oh yes," Fiona came and sat down at the work desk, she cast a careful eye over the papers that lay upon it. "These are looking great, are you re-inking them?"

"Yes."

"There's another reason Emily can't fire you, she knows how hard finding a replacement would be." Mia shook her head as she wheeled back over to the table. She set the pendant upon it and pulled out some tools to begin to remove the tarnish and grime.

"So, just who is this Mr. Kleist that makes him so important. Usually when I forget to mention an odd buyer or two all I get is a lecture on how a young lady shouldn't even be meeting alone with men."

"That's Emily all right," said Fiona with a chuckle. "But Mr. Kleist, well, he's an important customer."

"How important?"

"There are exactly five customers that my sister will do anything for. One is a king, another is an emir, two are major corporations, the last is Steven Kleist."

"Is he that rich?"

"I'm not sure, but he is very big on buying antiques. He always pays up front, and he has an amazing network of contacts and influential friends. As a matter of fact, he helped us get that shipment out of Sudan last month."

"Impressive."

"Of course he isn't totally perfect, he is fond of running very strange hours, and is about the only customer we have who can keep Emily's profit margin down."

"I'd imagine haggling between the pair could get intense."

"You said it. So how'd you get him to want that pendant, usually he only buys what he picks out."

"I don't know, I just showed it to him."

"Well," Fiona stood up, "if you figure out how you did it let me know, Mr. Kleist isn't an easy one to sell on something." The door swung inward as Antonio walked in.

"Hello Ms. Tintagel, hello Mia," the young man said as he bobbed his head at both of them. Fiona nodded back, Mia happily waved.

"Hey Antonio, how'd the birth go?"

"Ah, I have another baby brother. He is already almost ten pounds!"

"Hmm," said Fiona, "big, must run in the family." Antonio blushed and bobbed his head again.

"I was just wondering where you wanted me to put the new stuff in the display room," Antonio added, nervous of the attention from any Tintagel. Fiona shook her head and glanced over at Mia.

"You know we do supposedly have someone on staff in charge of ordering and creating the displays."

"I believe it's you as a matter of fact," shot back Mia in the same deadpan tone, "but if you keep putting the Scottish and Irish items in the same cases you have to expect me to perform a little revolt of my own." Fiona shook her head with a smile and waved it towards Antonio.

"Lead forth Spartacus, just don't let Emily catch you at it. Since I'm the one who'd get in trouble." Fiona turned and headed for the door, she glanced back over her shoulder, "and I know you're a workaholic, but don't forget to get that pendant cleaned up!" 

* * *

Richard Wallace walked down the winding staircase to the basement level of his massive mansion. He paused to glance at himself in the reflection of the steel doors that stood at the base of the stairway. He was a large man, and heavy set. His dark eyes stared out menacingly from under his sloped brow, his bald head added a semblance of a vicious gorilla to him. His large nose sat at a slightly off angle, broken in a fist fight many years ago. He ran one callused hand along the scar that ran across the side of his face. A wound inflicted in a knife fight for control of a street gang. Wallace grinned at that long ago battle, that had been the day he had vowed to no longer follow, but to lead men. He had done quite well with that attitude, he straightened the collar on his white silk jacket and smoothed the material of his black slacks.

He quickly typed a code into a small keypad, there was a beep and the gleaming metal door slid open. Inside were some of his most loyal and trusted aides. Scientists and researchers, all on the payroll of The Syndicate. The Syndicate was a conglomeration of powerful crime interests, Richard Wallace was the man at the helm, master of the criminal empire. He had fought his way up to his position the hard way, nothing had ever been given to him. What he had, he had taken. Boss Wallace had been the shark that had swum amongst the minnows of humanity. Or so he had thought.

Nine months ago he had been attacked in his office by a creature, a being best described as a vampire. It had only been luck and his many guards that had saved him from the onslaught. The creature had proved to be incredibly fast and powerful, but in the end it had been brought down. Since then Wallace had made it his business to learn all he could of vampires, for he had discovered that there were many more in his city.

It had taken many months, but now Wallace had become one of the top experts on the field of vamparism. His constant torture and interrogation of the handful of the blood suckers he had captured had made his efforts much easier. Soon he felt that he would be able to deal with the creatures on a more even footing. Yes, deal with them, for Wallace wasn't the type to throw away a business opportunity. He had learned that many businesses, both legitimate and criminal, were secretly controlled by these immortal leeches of blood.

Wallace didn't intend to become their slave, thus he would need much help to guard his mind and body from their powers. Of course, that was what had brought him down here today. He motioned over Nick Durango, one of his top men. The thin and oily figure quickly slipped over to Wallace's side.

"Yes?"

"I understand a breakthrough has come about."

"Yeah, come over and see."

Durango led him over to a observation location, it looked into a large and unfurnished room. Inside the room one of the vampires howled and tore against a wall, his features twisted in pain and fear. The source of his anguish, was a small trinket laying on the floor. Wallace cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

"What is it?"

"That," said Durango with a snicker, "is a Brahman prayer circlet from India."

"A holy item, like a cross."

"Yep."

"But, the creatures were unaffected by crosses, why does this vex him so?"

"Well, even other prayer circlets don't, but this one was blessed by one of their greatest holy men many years ago. We also have a cross blessed by the pope that does the same."

"Interesting, blessed and holy relics can affect them?"

"Apparently, though it has to be a impressively blessed item, the less holy it is..."

"The less the effect."

"Yeah, also if you hold one of these items, then you seem to gain some form of immunity from their other powers."

"A sort of holy shielding?"

"Yeah, the more potent, the better the shield."

"Hmmm, I suppose then we must find a very powerful item indeed." 

* * *

"Hmph, is that the best you could do?"

Mrs. Tintagel circled Mia, casting a dour look at her as she eyed Mia's clothes. Mia had dressed in a button up blouse along with a pleated skirt and black stockings. She had even made sure to actually polish her shoes.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Tintagel, I don't own many formal outfits."

"At least you didn't sully your face with too much makeup, only trollops wear excessive amounts of paint on their faces. And I suppose that the skirt comes down far enough over the knees to be barely acceptable. Though make sure you keep your ankles crossed and your posture straight!"

"Yes Mrs. Tintagel, but, why is it that I have to be here?"

"What?"

"Usually I don't handle closings."

"I am well aware of that child. However Mr. Kleist insisted that you be here to assist in the sale."

Mia paused to consider the odd request. What had she done to so intrigue the mysterious Mr. Kleist? She sighed and wheeled over to her work table.

"What are you doing," demanded Mrs. Tintagel.

"I thought I might work some more on restoring the parchments."

"You will not mess around with any ink or chemicals. If you insist on working, do so with a small item, and keep a smock draped across your lap."

"Yes Mrs. Tintagel," Mia grabbed a work apron and draped it over her. After a moment of consideration she picked up the piece of ancient Roman pottery. She could clean and translate it while waiting. Mrs. Tintagel strode back into the display room, Mia wheeled after her. Mia went and set her wheelchair in a small corner, the better to work while staying out of the way. Mrs. Tintagel was busy pacing around the room, adjusting and triple checking every detail. 

The pendant and the chalice sat upon the sellers desk. They were surrounded by the trademark blue flowers and silver ribbon of Tintagel Antiques. Papers emblazoned with the image of Emily's great grandfather sat before Mr. Kleist's seat. A gleaming silver pen sat perfectly positioned within a dark blue inkwell. Dr. Hibbert, the elderly researcher who also served as an authenticator of items sat near the table. Mrs. Tintagel had insisted he be present, probably to help disprove Mia's opinion about the Drevari.

"Would you stop dancing around like a chicken without it's head," said Hibbert as Mrs. Tintagel paced past him yet again. She frowned as she spun about sharply to face him. Dr. Hibbert simply smiled and waggled his eyebrows at her. Mia was always amazed at how Hibbert alone seemed immune to fear of Emily Tintagel.

"I would thank you to keep to your own affairs," said Mrs. Tintagel in a huff.

"Very well, but I still think you should calm down."

"And why is that?"

Hibbert pointed behind her, Mrs. Tintagel turned, and immediately stood as straight as a rail. A long black limousine had pulled up outside. Immediately the doors were swung open as a fearsome looking man in black hopped from the car. A second man jumped out and rushed to open the door to Tintagel's. Steven Kleist stepped smoothly from the limousine and nodded to his men. He walked smartly into the shop, pausing to neatly brush his shining black shoes upon the doormat. He smiled rakishly as he stepped inside.

"Greetings Mrs. Tintagel, how does the evening find you?"

"Quite well, and ready, as always, to do business with my favorite client."

"Of course," Steven pulled off his overcoat and handed it to the single dark figure that had trailed him inside. "I can see that you have already arranged the pieces. Hello Dr. Hibbert."

"Hello Mr. Kleist," Hibbert stood and shook Steven's hand firmly.

"How was Sudan?"

"Much nicer thanks to you."

"Excellent, when shall I be seeing the pieces?"

"As soon as we have had time to prepare them," chuckled Hibbert.

"I suppose that will depend on the speed of Miss Chasten." Despite the fact she had remained silent and was in a secluded back corner, Steven turned to look at her and smiled widely. "How do you do my dear?"

Steven walked forward, Mia felt again the odd flutter in her chest as he approached, suddenly his grin disappeared. The smooth and dashing man staggered, and then dropped to his knees. Mia's eyes widened in fear as Steven seemed to howl in pain as he collapsed back. She quickly moved the pot and apron onto a table and wheeled towards him.

"Mr. Kleist are you all right," asked Mrs. Tintagel as she rushed forward. 

Before any of them reached him the dark aide who had come with him was by his side. Steven croaked something to him, and the man quickly helped Steven to stand.

"We must be going," said the man as he carried Steven to the door.

Two other men in black suits burst in and aided the first in supporting Steven. In moments they had him in the car and were roaring off into the night.

"What happened," muttered Hibbert in shock.

"What did you see," demanded Mrs. Tintagel as she turned to Mia.

"I...I...don't know, he just collapsed."

"I shall make sure to call his secretary in the morning. I hope he is well."

"So do I," whispered Mia. 

* * *

As Steven's limo pulled away a shadowy figure hopped into his own car and followed it. As he drove the man quickly dialed a number on his cell phone. He didn't have to wait long for someone to pick up. "Hey, this is Frank, I'm tailing our pal Mr. Kleist, he just left the Tintagel Antique store. I'm calling because something inside the shop made him collapse, thought the boss would want to know... 

* * *

Mia gently traced along the outer edge of the letter. In her hand was an old fashioned goose quill pen. An inkwell sat nearby. She squinted as she recreated the gentle arc of the 'Y'. She smiled as she set the pen down and stretched. Back in the main showroom a bell was rung. Mia glanced up, it was Sunday, the store wasn't open on Sundays. Curious she wheeled over to her door. She peered from it into the room, two men were standing inside and looking at the various cases. One was a thin oily man, the second was a massive heavyset man. Both wore thick black wool coats over their suits.

"Can I help you," asked Mia as she rolled out into the main room.

"Hey, are you the owner," asked the dark oily man.

"No," smiled Mia, "I'm just in charge of restoration."

"Is the owner here?"

"No, Mrs. Tintagel will be out until nine Monday morning, you do realize we're closed." Mia tilted her head to glance over at the front door, she could have sworn she'd locked it after letting herself in.

"Don't worry about that, we won't be long. Were you here when Mr. Kleist came in last night?"

"What's this all about?"

"Just answer the question," the oily man walked closer to her.

"Who are you, how did you get in?" Mia began to back her chair away, the small dark man snarled as he advanced on her.

"Johnson!" The dark figure froze as the large man turned from one of the cases to look at Mia. "We are part of an investigation into Mr. Kleist's activities," he reached into his coat and flashed a badge at her. "We wish to know what he was interested in purchasing." Mia wheeled up to look closer at the badge, she then looked up into the dark eyes of the large man.

"I guess I could show you, wait here." She turned and wheeled back into her workroom, even as the door closed she grabbed the phone off the wall and quickly dialed the police. "Hello, I'd like to verify a badge number please." After the officer on the other end finally assured her that Detectives Johnson and Harmon had indeed been sent over to Tintagel's Antiques did Mia relax. She quickly retrieved the case with the pendant and chalice and wheeled back out to the officers.

"This is all he was looking at," asked Harmon as he looked down at the two items.

"That is all he was here to buy."

"Do either of these pieces have any historically religious significance?"

"What does that have to do with..."

"Just answer the damn question," snarled Johnson.

"No, they don't."

"Did Mr. Kleist look at anything else?"

"Only what's in the cases."

"Thank you, you've been very helpful. Please don't mention our visit to anyone," Harmon handed her back the case and turned to leave.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about," called Mia to their backs, however they didn't even pause as they walked from the store. Mia shook her head in confusion. She wheeled over and made sure to lock the door this time. Her head swam with possibilities as to exactly why the police would be interested in antiques that Mr. Kleist would plan on buying. Sighing in frustration she lightly massaged her temples. Finally she recalled the waiting vellum in the back, she smiled wistfully as she turned to resume her work. 

* * *

"Blast, she must have been hiding something," muttered Boss Wallace as he and Durango climbed into the limousine.

"Want me to maybe go rough her up?"

"I think that should be saved for a last resort."

"Hey boss," said the driver as he turned to look at him, "I got a call from Charlie, looks like the girl went and checked on your badge."

"Really," chuckled Wallace, "she is more intelligent then I had given her credit for."

"But what about finding what made Steven fall down?"

"Hmmm, get some of the boys to go over the records for everything in that shop. I want to know what was powerful enough to send the prince of the vampires to his knees."

"Yes sir." 

* * *

Steven walked up to the entrance of Tintagel Antiques and opened the door. Behind him two of his personal bodyguards stopped to stand guard at the entry way. Steven stepped into the shop, now that he was paying attention he could feel the slight tingle at the base of his spine. He knew that if he was foolish enough to come near its source, the tingle would become unimaginable pain. He cast his unnaturally acute senses about the building. It sounded like Dr. Hibbert and Mrs. Tintagel were upstairs arguing over some matter. He could also hear the quiet humming of Mia as she worked in her private restoration area. From that same room he could feel the buzzing of the item.

It had struck him when he had gone near her, yet during the visit before it had not. Now it was in the workroom. Obviously it had been moved about. It was something not too noticeable, since it had not been apparent to him when he had approached Mia. He recalled her fumbling with a apron and some tools when he had approached her, she had been working on something. He suspected that something had been what had so hurt him. He softly moved across the display area to look into the workroom.

Mia sat bent over a piece of paper. She was humming a tune to herself as she carefully worked on restoring the vellum parchment. Steven eyed the smooth curve of her neck, the gentle flush of red beneath her pale skin. He felt the rumble of the beast within him. He desired her, wished to drag her soft helpless form from her chair and feast on her rich warm blood. He wished to see the fear in her intelligent shining eyes as he towered over her. Instead he smiled and cleared his throat. Mia jumped as she was startled by the noise. She turned to look at him and smiled brightly.

"Mr. Kleist!"

"Hello Miss Chasten, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Oh, don't worry, everyone frightens me when I'm working on a project. I just get so caught up in it that I never hear them coming," she smiled nervously as she tried to straighten her ink stained T-shirt. 

"I offer my apologies in any case, I was just coming by to speak with Mrs. Tintagel, is she in?"

"Oh yes, she's upstairs. She's been very worried about you. We all have." As she felt that familiar pounding begin in her chest she shifted nervously. She seemed to recall using a rubber band to hold her hair back. She almost blushed at the though he would see it there and think her too common. What if...but no, there was the band, she had pulled it off to hold together some quills. She smiled again and idly ran a hand through her hair, trying, unsuccessfully, to straighten its wild waves.

"A minor attack of stress, I'm afraid I appear to work too hard."

"You should try to relax then, you seemed to be in a lot of pain."

"It was nothing. By the way, before I collapsed I noticed you'd been working on something while waiting for me." Mia's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You mean to tell me that as you collapsed you happened to notice what I was doing?"

"I do pride myself on noticing fine details."

"Well, you get my award for paying attention," Mia turned and reached up onto the shelf next to her. "I had begun to work on this piece of pottery, it's from Jerusalem and is very very old."

Steven felt the humming at the base of his spine increase slightly as Mia held the pot out towards him. It was a simple thing, fitting easily within the palm of her hand. Its outer surface was unremarkable save for a few words in Hebrew carved into the clay before baking.

"An interesting piece, very interesting," he said as he looked at it.

"Come in, I'll give you a closer look."

Steven shook his head sharply, "no thank you, I believe I have taken up enough of your time. If you'll excuse me." Mia watched as he turned and headed up the stairs to the offices. She sighed in disappointment as she set the pot down.

"Forget it girl," she said quietly to herself, "don't go getting too excited over some mysterious stranger." She shook her head and smiled at her own silliness. With a sigh she returned to the vellum, and the inking. 

* * *

"This has to be the single strangest request you have ever made of me Mr. Kleist."

"I know," he smiled at Emily as he looked up from perusing her bookshelf, "but I would take it as a great personal favor." Emily leaned back in her chair, she had never denied Mr. Kleist a thing before, but this request? Most strange. Dr. Hibbert looked over at her from where he stood in the corner. Emily could tell that he thought the offer even stranger then she did.

"I'm afraid that this is an antique house, not a temp agency," Mrs. Tintagel began.

"I would of course reimburse you for the time you are denied her talents," cut in Mr. Kleist.

"What," stammered Emily, her composure totally lost now.

"I will pay you for the profits you'd lose were she still here. Name the price."

"If I may," cut in Hibbert, "this is most improper."

Mr. Kleist turned to look at Hibbert, the elderly man fell almost instantly silent. Steven Kleist's gaze seemed to have that effect on almost anyone. Emily sat in thought, rent out Mia? The idea was absurd, but Mr. Kleist said he wanted her services in identifying some pieces of his. Also he seemed quite willing to pay for his time with her....

"How, how much would you offer?"

"Emily," hissed Hibbert.

This time Hibbert found both Mrs. Tintagel and Mr. Kleist staring at him, he nervously fell silent. Mr. Kleist reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope, he handed it to Mrs. Tintagel.

"I have taken the liberty of drawing up some papers estimating her weekly value to your store. I have also included an embellishment to her salary to be added on to your own payments to her. I trust you find all to be fair and acceptable.

"Well," sighed Emily as she eyed the paperwork, "It all seems reasonably fair. However I believe you underestimated her worth insofar as her selling talents go..." 

* * *

Hibbert slipped out of the room after quickly complaining of a uneasy stomach. He couldn't believe what he had heard, Emily Tintagel haggling the price of another human being. Hibbert swallowed and walked briskly down the hall and over to the gleaming balcony that looked down into the display room. Mia was talking with Antonio concerning the arrangement of the room.

"Since the Tutorio's purchased all of the impressionists it seems to have left the back wall weak, I was hoping you and some of the boys could bring in the Victorian settee and the two 14th century vases. You could set them on either side of the settee and place them right there, then switch the cabinet with the Francesco and it will really add to the look of the room." Antonio nodded as he jotted down a rough note on what she was saying.

"We'll get right on it Mia," he said as he nodded to her and trotted out the back door. Hibbert watched as Mia slowly wheeled over and admired a small worn bracelet in one of the cases. She was so innocent and helpless, he found he had started to worry about her. Hibbert shook his head and started down the steps, someone would have to talk to her, warn her.

"Dr. Hibbert," came Emily's cold voice, Hibbert glanced up, Emily and Mr. Kleist stood at the balcony rail. "Hibbert come up here, I wish to speak with you, now." Mr. Kleist smirked at him as he walked down the steps towards Mia, Hibbert cursed. 

* * *

Mia looked up as Hibbert and Mrs. Tintagel walked back to her office. She felt the odd flutter as Mr. Kleist walked up to her, he bowed slightly and smiled. Every piece of hair was perfect, no speck of dust marred his suit. Mia blushed self consciously as she realized how plain she must appear.

"You are looking lovely this evening," said Steven.

"Thank you."

"I was curious, how interesting is it to work here?"

"What?"

"Well, I have found that my own collection has become somewhat cluttered and in need of cataloging and refinishing. I have just spoken with Mrs. Tintagel and she thinks it would be a excellent idea for you to be the one to do so. She highly regards your skills."

"She does," said Mia in surprise, the fluttering seemed to grow faster.

"Yes, it would only be for one week though I must ask that you stay at my house while working. And I would encourage you to perhaps bring one or two pieces from here to work on as well."

"I, this is very sudden," Mia could feel her heart thumping wildly, what was it about Mr. Kleist that did this to her?

"The choice is yours, though I do pray you'll say yes," he smiled, his eyes sparkled. Mia felt as if she was lost in a world of darkness, and that all that could be seen was Steven's face. She shook her head weakly, trying to shake the cobwebs from it. Her heart pounded within her chest, her face flushed hotly, she felt as though she were spinning.

"Well....Mr....Kleist...."

"My dear, are you well?"

"I......" 

* * *

Dr. Hibbert stormed from Emily's office, he heard her shouting at him still. Fiona poked her head out of her office as he walked past. "What's going on," she said in concern as she hustled after him.

"Best to ask your sister, or maybe ask her what she doesn't think is wrong!"

Fiona stopped and then shook her head as she rushed after him.

"What's wrong? I've never seen you this upset?" Hibbert muttered as he stormed around the corner and started down the stairs. He gasped as he looked down into the lobby, two of Mr. Kleist's men were wheeling Mia out of the building and into the waiting limo outside. Another was coming out of her workroom, a box in his arms. Steven stood in the far other corner, and watched carefully as the box was carried out.

"What's going on here," demanded Hibbert as he started down the stairs, Fiona right behind him.

"Why nothing, Miss Chasten has simply accepted my offer."

"Did you bother to mention how much she had cost?" Mr. Kleist's smile faded from his face, his visage seemed to grow darker as he stepped closer. Fiona took a step back, Hibbert could feel a vague sense of dread come over him. Steven's face paused inches from Hibbert's.

"Stay down old man, she's mine now." Hibbert blinked, Steven was suddenly smiling again as he bowed his way happily out of the shop. Hibbert shook his head, had he just heard what he thought he had? He scowled as Steven climbed into his car and drove off. Following after came another car, apparently carrying the box. Hibbert walked up and looked out the window. He prayed that Mia would come back safely, there was something very wrong about Steven Kleist.


	2. Part the Second: Down the Rabbit Hole

Welcome and thank you! I can only assume that the reason you're on the second chapter is that you liked the first one (or need a ton of material to really rip into me with during your review) In either case thank you for taking the time to read my work. This chapter will introduce you and Mia to the Prince's household. Also a few more clues will be dropped about the pottery. I hope you enjoy this chapter even more then you did the previous one.

Blood on Antiques: A Tale of Detroit 

Part the Second: Down The Rabbit Hole

Mia woke with a start, she was in a car driving down a tree lined lane. She lifted her head and looked into the smiling face of Steven Kleist, his lips curled upwards as she slowly sat up. "I trust you slept well?" His voice was warm and cultured, it floated and danced through the air to caress her skin. She shivered slightly at the pure pleasure of it, in her chest her heart began a quick staccato of beats.

"Wh...where?" Her voice seemed groggy and confused. She blinked her eyes and tried to get her bearings. Steven kept smiling as he gracefully picked up a small Styrofoam cup and offered it to her.

"We are en route to my estate, we should arrive in a few moments." Mia groaned and gripped her head, it felt as though every aspect of her mind had been tossed about wildly. She just now seemed to recall how Mr. Kleist had invited her to come to his home, how Fiona and Dr. Hibbert had encouraged her to go. How even Mrs. Tintagel had seemed to think it a marvelous idea. Mia rubbed her temples softly.

"Oh...yes, I knew that. I'm sorry, I just feel very....odd."

"Forget about it, no insult taken. Here, drink this. It will make you feel better." Mia nodded thankfully and took the offered cup. She sniffed at the dark liquid and smiled to herself. Dear man, he'd gotten her coffee. She sipped at it a few times, the rich warm flavors filling her mouth and clearing her head of fog. 

"Thank you," she finally managed. "I'm sorry, I really can't believe I just slipped off like that."

"No apologies necessary, I totally understand what too much devotion and too little sleep can lead to." Mia blushed slightly and nodded her head. Steven smiled as he turned and motioned out the window. "Ah, here we are. Ms. Chasten, may I welcome you to my humble home." Mia leaned close to her window as she looked at the massive building. It was large enough to probably hold hundreds easily. Towers rose elegantly from it, and a vast and lush garden lawn stretched out before it. They drove along a gravel lined path that swept elegantly through the lawn before finally settling before the grand wooden entryway.

"My word," Mia gasped, "it's amazing."

"I thought you'd like it," said Steven with a contented grin. "My great great grandfather had it shipped over from Germany piece by piece."

"Amazing, how much restoration?"

"Limited, we try to maintain the original structure as much as possible." Mia grinned widely as the car drove closer to the huge building. 

* * *

"And this, this shall be your room," said Steven as he wheeled her inside. Mia's eyes widened in surprise. The room was huge, far too large for her to ever find a use for all the space. A four poster bed sat to one side, nearby was a massive wardrobe dresser and settee set before a mirror and makeup table. Mia shook her head in surprise, between this and the restoration room she now had a larger area to work in then she had ever had at Tintagel Antiques. She still recalled her awe at her first sight of the work area he had set up next to her room. Itcontained a massive collection of tools. Mia's jaw had dropped in surprise as she looked at the large assortment of restoration devices. The room was perhaps even better stocked then her workroom. Her mind snapped back to the present as she realized Steven was talking to her. "I trust you will be comfortable here."

"I think I'll manage..."

"I'm afraid I must leave you now, I have much business to attend to. When I return we shall see about getting you started on my collection. Feel free to explore the house, I have already alerted my servants to your presence. However, do not head into the basement levels. I have some important items there that I'm afraid must remain confidential for the sake of my business."

And with that warning Steven kissed her hand and was gone. Mia looked around the expansive room. She was still in some mild shock at being here. It was without a doubt a great opportunity, she could probably have spent the whole week happily investigating any one room of the mansion. Also there was the pleasant possibility of a greater understanding of her feelings for Steven. But....something in the back of Mia's head suggested there was something wrong about all this, though what it was she had no idea.

Mia shook her head in awe as she investigated her room. The wardrobe was fully stocked with a wide array of clothes. She was mildly surprised that each and every one had been tailored to her exact size. She shook her head and turned to look over the large work area, it was all perfect. Every conceivable piece of gear she would ever need was present. She grinned in happy glee as she found a large assortment of textbooks and research notes tucked in a shelf near the back of the room. She wouldn't even need to worry about lack of reference materials.

Mia finally worked up her nerve and pushed her wheelchair out of her room and into the rest of the large dark house. The first few rooms she poked her head into were large and well furnished, but the furniture was covered in cloth. Apparently Steven found little use for most of the vast house. Mia wheeled over to the stairs, she pulled the lever Steven had shown her and summoned the elevator. She had been surprised to find such a modern convenience worked into the ancient building, but was pleased to have an easy way to travel between floors.

Feeling a mild pang of hunger Mia decided to concentrate her search on the kitchen. Being familiar with Germanic architecture of the period she easily located the dining room. The room was large and appeared little used. However it had obviously recently been thoroughly cleaned. She spotted the door that would be for the servants, and wheeled up to it. As she reached for the door she paused. There was an odd thump from the door, then another. Curious, and eager to find some type of life within the thus far uninhabited building, she opened the door.

The knife slashed through the air over her head. Mia squeaked in terror as she felt her hair shift from the blade whizzing past. From behind her there was a solid thud as the knife embedded in the wall. Mia looked in shock at the target hung upon the door, and the three knives already stuck into it. All at the bulls-eye. She looked up to see a young man dressed in black slacks and a white chef's apron. Long dark hair hung in wild spirals around his face as he glared at her.

"Hello," Mia ventured as she felt her heart start up again.

"You should learn to knock before coming into a room," said the young man as he walked towards her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," The man walked past her and quickly pulled the knife out of the wall. "My name is..."

"Mia Chasten, I know who you are."

"Um, yes. I'm really very sorry."

The man walked back into the kitchen, Mia followed him in slowly and shut the door. She looked around, the kitchen was large, but apparently only a small section saw any use. There was also a worn wooden table near a wall, some cards and a vase of flowers sat on it. Mia smiled, here was a spot that had been lived in, here where the servants played and joked about their day. She smiled more, she could hardly imagine Steven's servants joking about him. The knife slashed through the air, it thudded into the bulls-eye.

"Good shot," Mia offered, the young man simply walked over and pulled the knives from the board. "I don't believe we've met, what's your name?"

"You can call me Cook," he walked back to the far wall and turned back to the target.

"Hello Cook, it's nice to meet you."

"If you say so." His arm snapped out, the knife slapped into the bulls-eye. Mia couldn't help but feel uncomfortable around this man, there was something in his eyes and the way he moved. Animalistic, almost feral. It was as though he didn't belong here.

"I hope you don't mind me being here..."

"Should I," his dark eyes glared at her from under his wild dark hair, Mia shivered.

"No, I don't think so," she stammered."

"Good," another knife, another thud, another bulls-eye.

Mia was about three seconds away from giving up and just going to bed hungry when a door at the back of the kitchen opened. Two figures entered, one was a young woman, she wore a maid's outfit which highly complimented her pale blue eyes and long red hair. Mia shifted self-consciously, the woman looked like she could be a model or actress. She certainly had that statuesque noble quality about her somehow. Walking next to her came a powerfully built man. He was tall and broad shouldered, though his face did have a slightly relaxing boyish look to it. Mia knew him as one of the men who usually accompanied Steven. Both of them came up short with surprise as they spotted Mia.

"Um, hello," Mia said as she waved weakly, "I was just...um."

"You were just trying to get something to eat maybe," asked the maid with a grin.

"Yes, I'm famished."

"Well, the kitchen would be the right place to go then," chuckled the maid as she quickly dashed over to a cabinet. "I hope you're okay with some sandwiches, I'm not much of a cook."

"A sandwich sounds great," said Mia as the large man helped her over to the table.

Mia spent the next two hours with them in the kitchen. The maid's name was Phoebe, she had apparently worked for Mr. Kleist for the last three years. Mia found Phoebe to be rather likable, the young girl was well educated, and more then willing to talk about anything. The large man was more withdrawn, it took Mia the first hour just to get his name out of him. Apparently Scott and his friends were used as Mr. Kleist's aides in all matters, and he was almost never without at least two of them. 

Once Mia had coaxed him out of his shell Scott proved rather likable as well. He was actually surprisingly well aquatinted with antiques, at least as far as weapons go. Mia soon had him engaged on a lively dispute concerning the pros and cons of various pole-arms. Cook remained mostly silent through the whole meal. He never sat, never ate, and offered as little response to any question as he could. He spent most of his time throwing his knives into the target hung on the door. Occasionally he would pause and simply stare at her. Mia found she had an almost immediate dislike for him. There was something about his eyes that made him appear unnatural and unhealthy. Not to mention his stares left her rather uncomfortable.

Finally Mia's eyes began to droop and Phoebe suggested she retire. Scott offered to escort her back to her room. Mia tried to ask him a bit about Mr. Kleist's job and past. However Scott instantly grew silent on the subject, he claimed to know little to nothing, Mia didn't quite believe him. Scott wished her a good nights rest and closed her door. Mia, being fully exhausted by the day, quickly pulled herself into bed and fell into a deep slumber. 

* * *

"I don't like her," snarled Malachi as he crouched on top of a counter.

"That is beside the point," Steven said as he eyed his three retainers, "what did you think of her?"

"She seems educated and kind," offered Phoebe, "though I don't think she has much practical world experience."

"Agreed, Scott said, "I think she is unaware of her real purpose for being here. Though she does seem to suspect something is amiss, she questioned me about you somewhat."

"Good," Steven grinned, "I hoped to peak her curiosity somewhat."

"I don't like her." Steven turned to regard his personal assassin. Malachi glared back at him, his dark hair obscuring his features somewhat. But Steven could still spot the ember of hatred burning in the back of his eyes. He fully knew how dangerous this tool of his was. A sharp and deadly knife that could spill his blood as readily as others. Should he bend, or push back? Steven frowned at Malachi, the prince wasn't in the habit of bending for anyone.

"I trust that you shall treat her with more kindness in the future." Steven's cold gaze bored into Malachi. He watched the scowl deepen on the killer's face.

"I don't like cooking, I don't like talking, I don't like her."

"Inconsequential, I need you to keep an eye on her. Do you understand?"

"Yes," growled the dark figure. Steven grinned to himself, even a knife realized it still needed the arm and hand to wield it.

"Good, I think tomorrow we shall see what we can learn about that piece of pottery." 

* * *

Mia blinked her eyes slowly as she sat up in bed. She sighed and stifled a yawn as she glanced over at the amazing grandfather clock that sat in the room. She had spent quite a bit of time last night just marveling at the fine work on it. Now however her eyes were drawn with alarm to the time. "Eleven-twenty," she muttered to herself in shock. Oh geez, this wouldn't look good on her first official day of work. She reached wildly into her nearby bags and randomly grabbed some clothes out of them. She dressed quickly and then pulled herself out of bed and into her waiting wheelchair. Still trying to buckle her second shoe she wheeled quickly to the door.

"Holy sh-!" She felt the thump even as she swung the door quickly open. Her eyes widened in shock and chagrin as she wheeled out into the hallway and looked behind the door. Laying on his back and holding a nose that was starting to leak some blood was Scott. Strewn about on the floor were piles of linens and towels.

"Oh no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't..." Mia frantically tried to simultaneously help him up, pull out her handkerchief, and help pick up the dropped items. She spectacularly managed to not only fail all of these tasks, but to bop him in the nose with one hand while her other accidentally dropped her shoe over the edge of the balcony.

"Ow," let out Scott as he dropped back from her unintentional shove of the handkerchief into his nose, Mia was already staring in shock as the shoe arced away to clatter noisily onto an antique table below.

"Oh the table!" She half fell out of her chair in shock, then turned it as if she could rush down and save it from the impact. Her wheels instead got tangled in a towel. "The towels!" Mia looked up again recalling how this had started, " your nose, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Here!" This time she was very slow in offering him the small scrap of cloth, it had some blood on it already from the previous impact. Scott sat there quietly, apparently waiting to make sure she was quite done. Mia began to chew her lower lip nervously as she looked in wide eyed worry at him. "Ah, I'm really very, very, very sorry. Sorry about the door, and the shoe, and the nose, and the linens, and the-"

"Hold on one second," he muttered as he held up his hand as if to stem the verbal barrage for a few moments. He carefully scooted back from her and stood up again.

"Hey! What the hell's going on up there?" Mia's eyes widened in fear as she heard the second voice arc up from the great hall.

"Nothing Mark, Ms. Chasten just woke up," Scott said with a half grin as he looked at her tangled amongst the fallen sheets, holding a bloody handkerchief, and with one bare white socked foot sticking straight out.

"Oh, good," came the voice again, then it paused and issued a low chuckle. "Does she want her shoe back?" Mia had thought her face couldn't get much redder, she was wrong. She lowered her head and allowed some of her wild hair to drape across her crimson face.

"I think so, bring it on up." Scott finished pinching his nose and let go, he'd probably have a bruise tomorrow. "Good morning Ms. Chasten, I trust you slept well."

"Yes," she wondered if it was too late to go back to bed.

"Good, here looks like you could use a hand getting untangled."

"Um...yeah," maybe she could just crawl under her bed.

"This oughta make a good story for lunch. I bet Phoebe loves it."

"Oh, good," maybe even hide inside a pillowcase.

"Hey everybody, drop something?" Mia looked up as another of the hulking and ominous shadowy guards of Steven walked up the stairs and towards them. Mia had at first thought they almost had looked alike, but was now starting to spot differences, this one was a little shorter and slightly broader then Scott. His face also lacked some of the innocent boyish charm, though he did have an odd twinkle in his eye. So this must be Mark, in one hand he had her shoe. She winced at the black leather and wood bottomed shoe, she should have opted for some sneakers. It would have cut down on the chance of damaging the table. But she had gotten into the habit of wearing the more formal shoes when meeting clients. 'A young woman must always present herself as a lady' echoed the familiar voice of Mrs. Tintagel in her mind. 'A young woman must always present herself presentably' came the unbidden recollection of Fiona's impression of her sister.

"Good recovery job there Mark," said Scott with his flashing grin. "Do you think you can handle the princely responsibilities that come with it?" Mia blushed even further and hid her face in her hands. Forget bed, under bed, or pillow. Maybe she could just crawl into her bellybutton and disappear for good.

"What?" asked Mark in confusion.

"He's referring to the fairy tale of Cinderella," muttered Mia through her hands, "about a woman who has to live in a house and make a fool of herself to those who live there."

"Hey, hey," stammered Scott, suddenly looking worried. "I was only going so far as the shoe reference. I think you're giving me too much credit in the brains department." Mia flushed again, now she was so worked up she was pulling insults out of the air, and managing to embarrass one of the few friends she had so far in this house.

"Well she could hardly give you too little credit," muttered Mark as he knelt and slipped the shoe on. He easily buckled it on as he grinned up at her. "Hell of a first day, huh?"

"I think I'm still trying to get through the first morning," Mia glanced down at the slightly bloody cloth in her hand, then over at Scott as he was gathering up the fallen linens. "I'm really very sorry, I didn't mean to hit you, I didn't mean to insult you. The Cinderella thing, well, I'm sorry, so sorry." Mark grinned as Scott looked up worriedly and waved away her apologies.

"Relax, really. No harm done. You've got to be the most jumpy bundle of nerves I've ever seen."

"It's in my upbringing. I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to keep forgiving me." Scott grinned at her and patted her hand reassuringly. 

"Trust me, if I was going to be taken out by a worried researcher and a door I wouldn't have gotten this job. Besides, maybe you should check on that table?"

"The table!" Mia's eyes widened again as she spun her chair in a tight circle and shot off. She swung rapidly through the work area to pick up some supplies and wheeled into the elevator, spinning around even as she slid into it. "Don't worry, I'm sure that I can fix any damage so that no-" The closing doors cut off her worried explanation. Mark chuckled again and glanced over at Scott.

"You going to tell her she has her blouse on inside out?"

"I think we'll wait till after she's calmed down over the table incident," sighed Scott as he gingerly touched his broken nose.

"That one's a little ball of energy," said Mark with a shake of his head.

"You're telling me," Scott agreed with a smirk. Both he and Mark leaned over to peer down into the main hall. Mia waved worridly at them as she quickly wheeled up to the table and began to look it over. Her hands delicately dancing over the damaged wood.

"I can see why the boss was interested in her." This last statement left both men quiet. They simply watched as Mia began to croon and fuss over the table. Not only cleaning up the minor scuff she had caused, but fixing a few more notable marks that they had caused themselves a week ago during some roughhousing. They hadn't mentioned it to the boss yet, now there seemed to be no more need. Mark grinned as he nodded to Scott.

"I like her already, what say we leave the shoe incident out of our reports?"

"Deal." 

* * *

"Well I understand you've already met Mark, and I know you remember Scott," chatted Phoebe as she set out some plates for the gathered staff. They had all gathered for lunch, for Mia it was going to be breakfast. "The smaller one," though Mia noted he was only small in comparison to his comrades, "is Ivan. He does most of the driving for the boss."

"Hey Ivan, nice to meet you," said Mia happily as she shook his hand. He grinned back and nodded at her.

"Just for the record I don't take doors in the face as well as some others do," the guards chuckled, Mia felt a tinge of warmth in her cheeks as she blushed again. "Don't worry, you couldn't have hurt anything important. You hit him in the head after all." More chuckles, Ivan grinned. Right, thought Mia, this was obviously the sarcastic and joking one. Scott was the too nice one. Mark was the tricky one. She glanced over at the last man, he was even bigger then the others.

"Ah, that is William," said Phoebe as she began placing sandwiches out for the group, "he isn't big on socializing. But, trust me, he's just a big teddy bear." William nodded politely at her. The big quiet one, got it. The four men sat together comfortably, their flashing smiles and laughter belying their grim jaws and broad shoulders. Mia grinned, they almost reminded her of her brothers. It was sort of nice to have the pleasantly informal meal, it helped ease some of her tensions.

"Very nice to meet all of you," she said brightly.

"Likewise," Mark said as he grabbed his sandwich, "it's not often one of the boss's friends opts to come visit with us. Much less actually ask our names!"

"Really, I guess most of Mr. Kleist's friends are from a slightly different social standing," said Mia as she looked down at her plate. "Um, not to try and sound unhappy with the meal, but where is Cook?" There was a very slight flicker of odd emotions from them, the four men all glanced at one another. Mia suspected that they perhaps shared some of her odd feelings towards the eerie man.

"Cook went out to shop for supplies," said Phoebe smoothly as she sat down next to Mia. "He'll probably be out most of the day."

"Oh," Mia tried to hide her relief. "In any case, when should I get started on my job?" Her eye lit up slightly, she felt her usual rush of energy at the thought of more work. She did rather enjoy the mystery and effort of recreating the past.

"Mr. Kleist has requested you wait for him. He wishes to discuss the work personally," said Scott.

"That's understandable, I wouldn't want a stranger pawing around in my collection. When will he be back?"

"Tonight," Mark said, "he runs a very busy schedule."

"You don't say. No wonder he had that stress attack. Can you imagine the sort of hours he must run? But, um, why aren't you guys with him. Aren't you his drivers and aides?"

"We handle the household a lot," said Scott, "besides he usually needs us to keep an eye on him more at night then now. He usually spends all of the day secure in his...office." Mia nodded happily and allowed the conversation to drift off into other topics. She couldn't help but notice that the others loosened up quite a bit when they stopped discussing Steven. She found the group rather fun, Mark proved to be the scamp she had him pegged for as he kept offering up some rather lewd jokes and innuendoes. Mia suspected Mrs. Tintagel would have dragged him off to wash his mouth out with soap. As it turned out Ivan was a gem, and actually somewhat shy around women. Mia found it quite easy to turn him against Mark, who quickly quieted down to escape the barrage of friendly abuse. Scott was polite, and kind enough not to mention anything about shoes or blouses. William remained quiet.

Finally the men wandered off to do their chores, leaving Mia and Phoebe to clear out the kitchen. Phoebe in turn took the chance to give Mia a tour of the outside of the house. Steven apparently owned the land in all directions for a fair distance, making the house more like an estate manor of old. He, of course, also turned out to own a stable of horses. Mia eyed the perfect and spirited creatures warily. Phoebe, noting her dark mood, quickly led her over to the kennel.

"C'mere Colin! That's a good doggie," laughed Phoebe. Mia watched in awe as a massive Labrador that looked like it could have torn Phoebe apart happily bounded over and nuzzled up to her. "The boss let's me take care of the dogs," said Phoebe as she hugged the massive beast affectionately. "Colin's my favorite, the others aren't so nice. Steven wanted them to be trained guard dogs y'know." Mia eyed the dark and surly crew, they looked their part.

"Why does this not surprise me," said Mia with a small grin. She looked away from the pack of dark dogs and looked again at the stables and the large mansion. "He just want's to be a lord, like back in the days of yore. I guess the position would appeal to his mindset."

"You have no idea how well," murmured Phoebe as she patted Colin firmly. The big dog grinned widely up at her as he pressed into her leg, begging for more. "Trust me, don't try to play with any of them but Colin. Some of those little blighters are downright vicious."

"Stay away from the evil dogs, check." Mia watched the dark and powerful creatures as they lurked around the kennel. Something about them reminded her of Cook, the dark and brooding looks of barely restrained rage. She decided she liked those dogs about as much as him. She looked down at Colin as the large mutt sidled up to her and planted his head into her lap. 'A young lady should never appear outdoorsy, it robs her of her mystique and elegance' Mia suspected Mrs. Tintagel would never play with a dog. She grinned at Colin and rubbed his head and ears, his large tail thumped happily on the grass. Well...what Mrs. Tintagel didn't know... 

* * *

"My word," said Mia as she gently ran the dust cloth along the gilded frame of the picture.

"Do you like it?"

"It's incredible, hand carved?"

"Of course." Mia sat before a work table, dozens of exquisite pieces lay around her. She was currently working on removing the thick dust that was choking and obscuring the beauty of a late Renaissance picture frame. She smiled in soft pleasure as the gleaming wood was revealed to her. Steven sat in the corner, watching. 

"How did you ever let this piece become so dusty."

"I managed to forget about it."

Mia looked up at him in shock, "you forgot about a 14th century picture frame?"

"Yes, I have so many pieces from the era."

"Mr. Kleist, you continue to surprise me."

"One does try." Mia laughed softly as she picked up some wood polish. She softly began oiling up the wood, restoring its sheen and natural glory. As she was finishing up the piece she was already eyeing the next one. An ancient Germanic broadsword, with an intact scabbard! She could only imagine how much that item would be worth. She glanced over at Steven, he still sat calmly in his chair, eyeing her intently. Unlike Cook's gaze Mia found this one strangely pleasant and reassuring.

"So tell me, what pieces did you bring to work on?"

"Hmmm?"

"From Tintagel's, you had my men pick up some pieces. The parchments, and some pottery..."

"Oh yes, I suppose I'll never find the time to work on them now."

"What are those pieces like."

"Oh my, you'd simply have to see the parchments to believe them. They're from around 1482 and are in great shape. I've restored the oils of the sheets and now they just seem to glow like liquid gold. You can still read at least 90% of the original writing and I've mixed up some inks to repair about-"

"Yes that's nice," cut in Steven, Mia quickly quieted down. She cursed to herself, she'd been about to keep talking far too much. "What about the pottery?"

"Yes, a very nice piece from a dig near Jerusalem. We haven't dated it or translated the writing, but it stands to be a very interesting item," Mia forced herself to cut off her speech before she started to ramble on about a piece again. "Why are you so intrigued by it?"

"No reason, it just caught my eye."

"Yes, I remember," she glanced up from the picture frame and glanced at him, "when you collapsed." Steven smiled gently and waved away her concerns.

"Don't worry about that, nothing but nerves and exhaustion." He stood up and brushed his finger across his lips as he watched her. Mia fidgeted nervously, unsure what he saw in her to deserve such scrutiny. "Would you do me a favor?" The words spoken so suddenly had her jumping, eager to please him and show him what she was capable of.

"Of course."

"I must go, but when I get back I'd love to know what the writing on the pot means. Would you bother translating it for me?"

"Not at all, but I'd have to abandon-"

"Think nothing of it, you have a week here after all."

And with that Steven Kleist was gone, the polished wooden door shutting silently behind him. Mia sat in her chair and stared at the door for a long time. 

* * *

"You will bring the pottery," Steven half snarled at her as his eyes bored holes into her head. "You shall forget about your old friends, they told you to come. You shall do as I ask, and then you will die for me sweet Mia....you will die!"

Mia's eyes fluttered open in terror as she sat bolt upright and yelped in fear. The large and empty room sat dark around her, the broadsword gleamed on the table in front of her. She groaned and placed a hand on her face and brushed her hair back. "Just a stupid dream," she muttered, annoyed that she had actually screamed. It had just seemed so real...The door swung inward as Scott and Mark burst in, both large men holding pistols in their hands. 

"What's the matter," Scott asked her as he rushed over to her. Mark kept his gaze sweeping the room. His gun swept over the dark corners of the room as his eyes peered into the shadows.

"Oh no, this is great," Mia moaned as she buried her face in embarrassment into her hands. "I just had a dream, a stupid dream!" She was shocked to find her voice raising in fear or frustration on the last few words, she could feel the tears start to swell around the edges of her eyes. Irritated she tried blinking them back, thankful she had already hidden her face.

"Hey Mark, get back to post," said Scott as he placed his gun back into his jacket. The other guard nodded and slipped out the door, silently closing it again. Mia felt a large and strong hand gently rest on her shoulder. "It's okay, you didn't do anything to bother us. We're just usually on edge around here. Nothing to get upset about."

"I'm not upset," Mia half sobbed, "I...I just had a fright....It's nothing."

"It's the hours the boss makes people run," soothed Scott, "we all had to get used to them."

"I guess....but....oh, I just feel so stupid!" She did, her body was quaking as though it was in some insane danger. Everything in the house was seeming to make her suddenly very nervous and uneasy.

"Not a problem," continued Scott's deep and calm voice, "you want to talk about it, go get some sleep, have a bite to eat?"

"No...I still have a translation to make. I just need to calm down, I'll be okay, really." She forced herself to straighten again, lightly pressing against Scott to urge him back. He continued to look worried but did slowly step away. She wiped her face quickly and ran a hand through her hair to brush it into a less sleep disordered shape. "Really, I feel a lot better. Just jitters about being in such a strange new place I guess."

"Very well, I'll see you tomorrow then." With a silence that seemed unnatural to such a muscled beast of a man Scott slipped back out of the room. Mia sighed and rubbed her aching temples. She felt achy all over, and her mind felt like it had been hit by a hurricane. There was also a rather annoying tingle at the back of her spine, extra strange since she shouldn't even have feeling down there. She shook her head in annoyance and pulled out the pot, better to get this over with quickly. Then rest, a lot of rest. 

* * *

Steven walked into his study, he paused. There was a note laying on the floor. He picked it up and smirked at the silliness of it all, like kids passing notes in class. His name was jotted across the outside of it. He unfolded it smoothly and easily read the flowing German the note was written in. Hello Steven, consider this your just reward. I was up to almost two-thirty trying to decipher ancient Hebrew, if you can't read German fluently then you can spend the morning trying to translate this. My little joke. The pot only had a simple message on it; Upon this were our sins lifted. I'm not sure what this means, but I'll get to researching it sometime tomorrow, after I've recovered, and if I find time away from restoring your collection. I'll see you then, -Mia.

"I don't like her," came the cold voice from the corner. Steven glanced up as Malachi hopped off his perch upon a desk in the corner of the room. Steven slipped the note into his pocket and turned to watch Malachi's approach. The assassin's eyes were narrowed, his hands curled in anger. Steven lifted one eyebrow as he stared at him.

"If that is all you are here to say I shall be most put out," Steven said calmly, but with a minor hint of annoyance in his voice. Malachi's stance suddenly changed, the violence seeming to fade away as if it was never there. He bowed his head slightly to Steven.

"Of course, master," came the almost mocking reply. Almost mocking...Malachi knew how not to cross that particular line. Steven allowed the near slip to pass, Malachi was too valuable to lose over such a minor transgression. "Scott wanted to make sure you knew that our dear Ms. Chasten is apparently suffering from night terrors."

"Really? Anything in particular?"

"He thinks maybe she's remembering exactly what happened that you made her forget."

"Hmmm," Steven glanced at his watch and shrugged, "no difficulty, there's time enough for a little visit tonight." Steven turned and began to head for her room. 

* * *

Dr. Hibbert walked slowly up to the door. He paced around, almost rung the bell, and then began pacing again. His plan had seemed much easier to accomplish when he had been planning it out on the way over. Drat! Why did planning a plan always work out better then executing a plan? 'Plans were made to be plans' he thought with a bitter half laugh. If only he could shake that feeling of fear that Mr. Kleist had seemed to plant in him the other day. "Damn it Francis," he growled to himself, "you've dealt with religious fanatics, dictators, assorted savages, and bloody rebellions. You can handle one man." Thus resolved he pushed the doorbell. The door swung open almost immediately.

"Yes," asked the black suited wall of muscle who answered the door.

"Eh? You're William, right?"

"No sir, my name is Scott. We first met at the dig in Zaire."

"Oh yes, the sword enthusiast. I remember you now."

"That is good sir, may I help you?" Dr. Hibbert couldn't help but notice he hadn't been invited in, and Scott seemed to fill the doorway quite effectively.

"Ah, I was hoping to talk with Mia, I thought she'd like to catch up on all the excitement she's missing," Hibbert stammered. He hoped it would be enough to get him to a least check on how the poor girl was being treated.

"I'm very sorry, Miss Chasten is indisposed at the present time."

"Oh really," said Hibbert. There it was again, that sense that something wasn't right. "Could you mention to her it's me, I'm sure she'd like to talk to..."

"Miss Chasten is very busy, I cannot interrupt her. Mr. Kleist paid quite well for her time, let him have it." Hibbert scowled, something was definitely up.

"Um, drat this is embarrassing. Look, I need to ask her where she keeps the beta-hydroxide, I need it and can't seem to find..."

"She keeps her chemicals in the lower left cabinet, second shelf on the right," said Scott calmly. "They are all well labeled. I saw the beta-hydroxide there when we went in to get her things. Good day to you."

"Wa-wait!" Hibbert shoved his body as hard as he could against the door, Scott paused, apparently surprised by the bold move. Hibbert pressed his face in close as he pleaded to Scott. "I think she's in danger! Is she all right? What's going on in there?"

"Miss Chasten will be returned in good health sir," Scott said after a pause, Hibbert spotted a flash of something on his face. Fear? Anger? Concern? Hibbert wasn't sure. "You have my word, now I suggest you leave. It's not safe here for you. Good day." This time Scott closed the door, easily shoving Hibbert back with it. Hibbert cursed as he backed away and looked up at the ominous old house. He would need to come up with a better plan, he shook his head in annoyance as he turned and started the long walk back to his car. 

* * *

She thrashed and struggled in the heavy covers of the bed, the dark figure easily pinned her down. His arm felt like a lead weight on her chest, she gasped and struggled for air. Her body twisted and writhed, the figure seemed to chuckle at the sight. Fangs flashed in the dark, he leaned towards her neck, Mia screamed and screamed

And screamed as she jerked to sudden wakefulness in her room. Mia moaned miserably as she buried her face with a pillow. Welcome back to the land of the living, she thought grimly. Care to join them? The answer was yes, she slowly dragged herself out of bed and reached for the dresser. There was a note on it. She half grinned as she picked it up; Mia, I was able to manage your German. Though I must report your grammar may still need work. In any case I am glad you found things so engrossing as to stay up so late with them. I have left a set of China for you to investigate and clean. I think some of it was supposedly Ming, some Luan, and some...others. I apologize for not being a better judge of ancient Chinese pottery, even my talents have their limit. -Steven. P.S. I would be honored if you would join me for dinner in the dining hall tonight at six. 

Mia set the note down, her mind a swirling blur of thoughts. Tonight at six? She glanced at the clock and winced when she noticed it read half-past one. These hours were definitely ripping her sleep schedule to pieces. She promised herself to try to get to bed at a semi-normal hour tonight. Tonight....at six, he had signed Steven, a date of sorts, why couldn't he tell Ming from Luan, what should she wear? She blinked her eyes and groaned at the mental overload. She was always in the habit of trying to get too much done if she didn't pace herself. First things first.

They had set the shower up to accommodate her. She sat under the pounding droplets, trying to focus her mind more clearly on all she should still get done. For a moment she contemplated calling Fiona and asking what was proper attire for a first date, with an employer, at his house. She vaguely suspected that if Mrs. Tintagel knew she'd have a coronary then and there. This in itself almost had her call, she chuckled as she dried herself and contemplated her limited wardrobe. She was finally forced to settle for the same long skirt, dark stockings, white blouse ensemble she had worn when he had come to first buy the chalice. She didn't have anything else that even marginally passed as proper evening wear.

She then wheeled over to her workroom, sure enough the pottery was there. She easily identified the Luan by checking for the classic crinkled green finish look. Though one of them she immediately discounted as not being thin enough to possibly be authentic. The others could wait. She then looked over the Ming pieces with a flashlight, checking to see if the light shining through came out white or beige. The whites were placed into the fakes, the beige were put into the good pile. She had just started to organize the unknowns by likely eras when there was a quiet cough from the doorway. The flashlight she had been toying with flipped out of her surprised fingers to clatter noisily to the floor, she nervously blushed.

"Dinner is served Madame," said Mark with a grin. "I see you kept a good grip on the pottery." 

"I guess it's habit," said Mia as she gently set the piece down. "Even surprised I know enough not to drop it."

"A firm solid grip is important," said Mark with a grin. "Good hands job you have I guess." Mia looked up at him through some loose trails of hair and shook her head in bemused mirth at his antics.

"Did anyone ever tell you the difference between growing up and growing bigger?"

"Ouch," said Mark in mock agony as she wheeled out towards him. He grinned as he looked her up and down. "Course I ain't the one running around in a schoolgirl's uniform. Very nice look," he added with a wink. Mia only shook her head again as she followed him out of the room. She looked up at the tall shape of Scott who was waiting by the door.

"You should do something to reign this fruitcake in," she said with a sigh.

"Ooooh, Scott's going to slice me to ribbons with his rapier wit. Give him a break Mia, Scott don't do jokes. It makes his head hurt." Scott glanced in annoyance at Mark, who waved his hands up to deter any anger. "Just calls them as I sees them."

"Oh will you two get over it," sighed Mia from the elevator. Scott shook his head and stepped inside. Mark was still smirking as he started forward, Mia hit the close door button, they slid shut before he had made it. "Stairs may not be a huge form of payback. But I takes them as I gets them," she said in a fairly close impression of Mark's voice and hand motions. Scott grinned.

"Not too bad."

"Hmm, looks like your nose healed up quick." Scott reached up and brushed his nose as the doors opened. It did indeed look to be in good shape, not even minor swelling.

"I guess I'm just lucky enough to be a quick healer," he said slowly.

"Good for you." Scott escorted her across the hall and towards the dining room. "So tell me, is this going to be a dinner of sandwiches or is Cook actually going to cook?"

"I guess you'll find out soon," said Scott as he opened the door for her. Mia grinned one last time as she watched Mark come hopping down the steps, looking like he couldn't decide if he should laugh or curse at her joke. She glanced into the dining room and her smile disappeared in a flash. It was replaced by an odd shocked look. The room was brightly lit by dozens of brilliantly gleaming candles. A rather exquisite feast was laid out carefully on the table. It looked like it could easily feed the whole household, but there was only one chair. Steven Kleist was standing near it, he smiled at her as she entered.

Her vision cleared again in instants, she could feel the wild thumping in her chest again. Oh God, she thought, I hope this passes. I'll never be able to eat or talk if I feel so woozy all night. Steven's eyes danced as he walked over and bowed slightly before her. His hair and beard were, of course, perfect. His solid and dashing figure seemed to easily fit into the cleanly cut dark suit he wore. His only piece of jewelry was a single diamond ring on his right hand. It seemed to be easily overshadowed by his flashing smile.

"Good evening, I trust your day went well," he said as he easily guided her chair over to the table. She again had that unmistakable feeling that there was a great power within him. Of course when you considered the fact he had a stunningly brilliant mind, a vast business empire, and a quartet of hulking guards. Perhaps the feeling made more sense. Of course the guards weren't here, nobody else was here. It was just her, and just him. Mia shivered at the thought. "I hope you don't mind that we dine alone. I was planning for us to be able to discuss things," said Steven as though he had already known what she was thinking.

"Ah, ha, um, yes," she finally managed to squeak. Good going girl, she chided herself, why not just start drooling next. She half considered it, if only to see how Steven would handle it. She knew without doubt he would do so while appearing totally comfortable and smoothly polished. 'Why my dear, allow me to dab at the sparkling stars that drip like dew from your lip' She quickly stifled the laugh that rippled through her at the thought. Steven cocked an eyebrow slightly.

"Do I amuse you already? I had hardly yet begun to get up to speed." Again he flashed the smile. Mia gasped at the sight, as her heart seemed to pick up an even more frenetic pace. She felt as if her entire body had started to blush, a heat burned at the tips of her ears as she tilted her head down, allowing her hair to help hide that fact.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at...ah, I did go over the pottery," and for my next brilliant piece of conversation I'll just grunt, she thought with a groan.

"Excellent," said Steven with a laugh and a clap of his hands. "I trust things went well?" She began to describe to him all about her analysis, and soon was deep in a discussion of ancient Chinese culture and governments. She shook her head, was there anything that Mr. Kleist couldn't carry on a conversation intelligently about? He served her himself, the meal was really quite good, though she hardly recalled eating it. However she did note that he did keep refilling her wine glass, and that she kept drinking it. Probably not the best plan for someone with her tolerance for alcohol. Dr. Hibbert had once claimed he knew field mice who held their drinks better. 

* * *

"I don't like her." The servants who were watching from the kitchen glanced over at Malachi as he peered through the crack in the doorway at Mia. His hands had curled up into rough claw-like shapes, and Scott swore he could even see the razor sharp talons forming from the fingernails.

"Hey play nice man," said Mark carefully. He instantly quieted and gulped nervously when Malachi glanced over at him. All four guards were decidedly dangerous and trained fighters, but they all knew what their chances would probably be against Malachi.

"I don't like this 'party', I don't like playing human, I don't like her."

"Hmm, looks like the boss still can't get her to talk about that stupid pot that got him so interested in her," cut in Ivan, eager to diffuse Malachi's growing annoyance.

"Why is he treating her so sweet," grumbled Phoebe quietly. "She could just tell him and this would all be over. Instead she keeps flirting and drinking all that damn wine he's pouring her." Scott patted Phoebe on the shoulder, well aware what was troubling her. She had been selected by Steven for her resemblance to his long dead wife. She was a private source of blood and a personal plaything for Steven's desires. Of course he had long ago bent her will to a point she was madly in love with him, thus any possible competition rubbed her the wrong way.

"Relax Phoebe, this is just business for him," Scott said quietly. Though he too kept a close eye on the meal, feeling concerned about Steven's actions as well.

"Yeah, and I don't think she's flirting," added Mark. "She just gets excited about old dusty things...Hey! Maybe that's why she digs the boss!" Phoebe and Scott glared over at him, Mark sighed and turned away. "I thought it was funny..." Meanwhile, crouching in the doorway, Malachi's lips curled back into a feral snarl as he whispered to himself. 

"I don't like her." 

* * *

"I'm really....elly....jelly? I think perhaps I've gone and....too....more then."

"More wine?"

"Yes please," she gushed with a wide grin. Steven promptly poured her another glass. She took a sip and giggled. "Thank you good...man...sir...boss?"

"This brand is from a farm I own in southern Germany. A very old place, but it makes some excellent wine. Don't you think?"

"Mmmmm. Wine, fine, line, vine, grapes grow on vines. Grapes make wine. Wine from vine"

"Indeed. Well it looks as though I have been perhaps a bit too liberal with the drinks."

"You could call it a ghost wine. Spirits are alcohol, so why not specters, wraiths, shades, apparitions, spooks, phantasms, haunts, haunted house. Your house is very strange.

"I had noticed," said Steven. There was something odd about his eyes now. They seemed to dance less, there wasn't so much humor in them. Now there was a....desire...hunger? Mia grinned at him and leaned in closely.

"I have a secret for you," she confided. Steven suddenly grinned, he leaned in close, he seemed quite eager. Mia smiled. "I think you are very....very, cute." She blinked a few times and kissed him gently on the nose. She felt him breathe in, and thought she heard him mutter a noise. Rather like 'Ah!' then she forgot where she was.


	3. Part the Third: Rabbit meets Wolf

Of all the sections I've written for this story I believe this one is my favorite, it just seemed to capture the moods I was looking for effectively. In this chapter we shall learn more about both Mia and Steven, and the players will have assembled for the final confrontation. Rest assured that no matter how it might seem this is not the end of the story. Please read, review, and enjoy...

Blood on Antiques: A Tale of Detroit 

Part the Third: Rabbit Meets Wolf 

She was dragged out of her chair. She felt strange away from it, suddenly weak, unable to escape. Did she want to? The hands were on her, she felt her soft pleated skirt shifting as hands roamed over, and under it. She blinked, her eyes wide. She weakly reached up, trying to get some space, trying to find room to think. The hands didn't stop, they were all over her, she felt her legs spread slightly as the hands pushed them apart. The hands were on her blouse too, buttons opening, soft material shoved aside. Sensible cotton undergarments moving away from smooth tender flesh. She gasped, gulping for air that didn't seem to want to come. She pressed harder at the shadows, they just moved in closer. Hands on her, gleaming eyes, glowing darkly. Something pressing.... inside her, something... Pain as it sawed in and out. She fought and twisted but it wouldn't stop. Flashing teeth, pointed and sharp. The laughter. The voice, it told her she was his. It told her to obey, obey and serve her master. She felt the fangs enter her, she felt the flow of pure pleasure wash over her from the tips of her toes to the tips of her...she felt....she felt....

She felt like hell. Mia lifted her head slightly, waves of pain greeted her. She groaned and rolled over in her bed. She didn't need this, she was sure of it. She glanced over blearily at the antique grandfather clock that ticked along merrily nearby. It was already half past three in the afternoon! Mia sank back onto the bed, these hours were doing stranger things to her then she had thought. Not that the alcohol from the dinner with Steven had helped. Her mind swam as she tried to recall last night clearly, she couldn't. She pulled some clothes out of her dresser and put them on slowly while waiting for her head to clear. 

Today promised to be the death of her at this rate she thought with a grimace. She drooped and rested again, feeling almost already spent. A moment later she jerked back awake, flashes of blood and pain screaming behind her eyes. She glanced at the clock and groaned in despair. Now it was past six, the sun would already be down! This was truly pathetic, she couldn't even seem to get out of bed. She forced herself to sit up, ordering her body to follow commands it seemed uninterested in. Her arms shook wildly as she weakly pulled herself up from the bed and slowly slipped into her wheelchair. She gasped as she finally sank down into it. Her whole body feeling sore, as if she had been exercising madly.

"Early bird gets the worm, late bird gets nothing, really late bird gets fu-," an image of what Mrs. Tintagel would say prevented Mia from finishing one of Dr. Hibbert's more favored sayings about tardiness on the job. She shook her head, wondering what the others back at Tintagel's were up to. Then she shoved the thought aside, she had a job to do here and now. No time to worry about her old chores. She slowly wheeled out into the hallway, Scott was standing calm watch over her door. The big lug didn't even have the decency to appear tired from the even worse hours he must be pulling.

"Good afternoon Ms. Chasten," he said rather too cheerily for her taste.

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here," he replied gravely.

"No not the house, in front of my..." Mia paused to glance up at him through the wild fuzz of her hair. Almond colored eyes blinked slowly, then a smile crept across her face. "Why Scott, was that actually a joke?" He nodded seriously at her, his face stern.

"Yes Ma'am."

"Hmph, now I know I'm seeing and hearing things." He quickly stepped up behind her and began to push her along, she didn't complain. Her arms felt more like dead weight then anything else. "So what were you doing by my door?"

"You were pretty out of it, kept waking up screaming. I'd figured I'd keep an eye on you."

"You...you didn't need to trouble yourself," she gasped nervously. She couldn't believe that she had actually kept him up and waiting over her all night. "I can't imagine the trouble I must be giving you. I really..."

"Hey," Scott cut in as he paused and leaned around to look into her eyes. "It was my pleasure. Just repeat after me." She waited nervously as he just grinned. "Thank you Scott." He smiled at her as she cracked another small grin.

"Thank you Scott," she said with a sigh. "I'm sorry, it's just I don't like to have people fussing over me. Comes from a lifetime of trying to prove to everyone that you're self-sufficient. What you did was sweet. I think you're what Mrs. Tintagel refers to as 'the rare flash of manners from the crude youth of this country'." Mia sighed and leaned back, "I really don't feel that good...."

"I noticed." 

"It's really pathetic. It's not even like the work is that hard, I even like doing it! I mean, that broadsword is exquisite, and the China? I could probably spend all week just working on fixing up that poor China and...well. It's just, I feel so spent. Like all my energy has just been....just been, drained away." She realized she was half babbling and quickly stopped. Scott was polite enough not to say anything about it at least. He wheeled her into the elevator and they rode down in silence. Mia clutched at her head and tried to gather her thoughts coherently. She remembered eating dinner, she recalled being brought back to her room...what else had happened? A strange image of blood and Scott's yelling worried face flashed in her thoughts as the elevator doors swung open.

"You better get something to eat, you do look a little pale." He wheeled her into the kitchen, on the plus side Phoebe was there, unfortunately so was Cook. Mia wasn't sure if she could take any more of the creepy servant, especially with how she felt. "I have duties to do still, I'll check in on you later," Scott said softly as he slipped away. She never saw the look of actual concern that lingered on his face as he backed away. The scowling dark form of Cook, however, did. A knife swished past her ear to thud into the door as it swung shut. Mia's eyes snapped wide as she froze in fearful shock.

"Damnit Cook," hissed Phoebe as she rushed over to the wide-eyed Mia. "Get the hell out of here!" Cook grinned and half bowed as he slipped out a rear exit. Phoebe turned back to Mia. "You okay?"

"F-f-fine, n-n-never better."

"Sorry about that, Cook takes some real getting used to." Mia nodded slowly as Phoebe patted her hand comfortingly. "C'mon, I'll fix you another of my famous sandwiches." 

* * *

Mia was busy working on some tapestries, she had finally seemed to regain some of her old self as she again began working. Steven was in the kitchen with his servants. Only William wasn't there, having to keep an eye on Mia in case she hadn't recovered as well as they thought. "I believe that she has some good ideas about what that pot really is. But her resistance is surprising. She just isn't talking to me about it. Not in person and not during our sessions."

"Hmm, is that what last night was," said Malachi quietly as he crouched on the table.

"Last night," growled Steven, "was an unfortunate slip. It won't happen again, that desire has been filled to satisfaction." Scott looked away from Steven, an odd look on his face. Phoebe muttered something to herself under her breath. Steven didn't miss either of their actions.

"That Hibbert guy was by again," offered Mark, "came over with some punk kids for backup."

"That would probably be the shipping and loading staff of Tintagel's," muttered Steven. "They seemed to be fond of her as well." 

"Yeah, I chased them off again. Took some fancy footwork though, I'm not exactly the best diplomat around. I think it'll be even harder next time. And there will be a next time."

"Right," growled Steven. He rubbed his nose in agitation. "Time grows short, I wish to know what she's thinking. I need a proper catalyst. Something to put the right fear in her."

"Why not just let her remember last night," Scott said darkly. The room went quiet. Malachi grinned to himself. Steven looked up into Scott's eyes, Scott quickly looked away again.

"Hmm, any other suggestions?"

"Yes," said Phoebe, a dark glint in her eyes. "I think I may know something. A bit of research would prove it quite easily." 

* * *

Mia was starting to feel better. She finished cleaning up her work area and grinned satisfactorily to herself as she eyed the sorted pieces of China. She glanced over at the waiting cleaners and polish that lay next to the broadsword and then glanced at the clock. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized it was a little past midnight. She didn't even feel very tired. Crazy hours...she shook her head and almost opted to turn in for the night. Then she glanced back longingly at the broadsword.

"Well...I did get a late start," she finally rationalized to herself. She wheeled out into the hallway and towards the elevator. "I'll just nab a quick snack and then see what lies under all that grime," she said eagerly as she entered the lift. She paused as she eyed the buttons, her eyes locked on the button that would lead to the basement. "Wonder what he's got down there," she whispered as she reached out and lightly brushed the button.

It had certainly seemed odd to allow her total free run of his entire house besides the basement. She smirked, Steven probably wouldn't even bat an eyebrow to find her in his bathroom. But the basement? She resolutely turned away and instead hit the button for the ground floor. A snoop she was not, and she chided herself for even considering going to the basement. That odd tingle in her spine faded away again, and only then did she realize it had been happening. She considered what it could mean as she wheeled through the dining hall. She curiously eyed the 16th century French rugs, odd, she could have sworn last night they were 17th century German. She opened the door to find Phoebe and Cook talking about something.

"Hey guys, I see I'm not the only one burning the midnight oil," she cheerfully said as she rolled into the kitchen. Phoebe turned around to glance at her, the striking redhead's eyes narrowing slightly as she looked down her nose at Mia.

"I see you're feeling good, you have a nice...glow about you." Phoebe grinned at her. Mia didn't respond, she was a little too shaken. She couldn't ever remember feeling so frightened by such a pleasant greeting. Cook simply nodded his head slightly to her.

"Hello Ms. Chasten." Mia smiled at them and pulled her loose black sweater a bit tighter around herself. Something about Phoebe's look had given her the chills, and Cook had never been that relaxing.

"Don't mind me," she said as she wheeled forward. "I'm just going to grab a light snack."

"Yes, a snack. Good for keeping you strong, if not for overlong." Mia glanced up curiously at Cook. He looked blandly back at her. But she was certain she had heard his voice go raspy and mutter the oddly rhyming words as though a threat. She looked over to Phoebe, but the maid stood with her arms crossed and her face as icy as before. Mia began to put together a light meal of crackers and some bits of cheese and vegetables she was able to scrounge up.

"You actually don't look that well at all," muttered Phoebe as Mia turned to leave. Mia paused again, now, though the words had seemed harsher, the voice had been much kinder. Phoebe was watching her carefully, her face had gone a bit gray and worried.

"What are you talking about," chuckled Cook as he walked past Mia and patted her shoulder affectionately. She flinched slightly at his touch, his hands feeling primitive and rough against her thin shoulder. "Ms. Chasten looks just fine to me." She glanced up at him, though he smiled she felt as though it were the smile of a shark watching a fish.

"Yes, I'm fine Phoebe," assured Mia as she slipped from Cook's grasp and wheeled towards the door. "I'm just a bit worn from adjusting to this schedule. But I'll get it, just like you have." She pushed through the door and headed back for her workroom. Cook grinned and glanced at Phoebe.

"Yeah, she'll get it. Just like you have." 

* * *

Scott finished stretching and walked out onto the practice mat. He watched as Mark did the same. Both wore loose exercise pants and white tank tops. They had just finished the bulk of their daily exercise regimen and were ready to practice their hand to hand techniques. As the elite bodyguards to the prince each of the four ghouls had spent years honing their skills in almost all forms of combat. Scott personally preferred his guns and markmanship training. After all, he didn't fancy his chances against any vampire in close quarters. He tried to convince himself this was his reason for not wanting to spar Mark, and not the fact that he had never beaten him.

"You're nervous cause you never beat me, right?" Mark grinned as he walked up, he hadn't even raised his hands into a defensive posture. Scott sighed.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if certain people weren't such assholes about it."

"Ooooh, your wit wounds me." Mark shrugged and held his arms out wide. "I'm ready when you are." Scott frowned, he swore to himself Mark would regret that one. He sprang forward, his large body moving far quicker then it seemed capable of. His hand swept out in a straight hard line towards Mark's face. But Mark suddenly twisted. His arms swung inward as he stepped back and turned to the right. The move caused his head to move away from Scott's blow while simultaneously putting Scott's arm inbetween Mark's own arms.

Scott cursed as Mark locked on and twisted his wrist painfully. He quickly rolled forward, un-twisting his wrist. Before Mark could react Scott rolled again, now twisting Mark's arm. Mark let go even as Scott spun and jabbed his other hand hard into Mark's gut. Mark gasped as he bent over, Scott quickly responded with a sharp rising knee to the throat and chest. Mark was hurled back onto the mat. He rolled with the blow and came up on his feet, but it was obvious from his bulging eyes and open mouth that he was fighting for breath. Scott almost allowed himself a grin as he closed in, now he could...

"Scott!"

The cry distracted him, he turned to look up, and then cursed as he remembered where he was. He spun back just in time to see Mark's hand coming in for his face. A quick series of painful blows followed as Scott tumbled off balance and collapsed to the mat.

"And that...is how we do things back on the streets," chuckled Mark as he stood over Scott.

"What streets would those be," muttered Scott as Mark helped him to his feet.

"Ah, I dunno, just the streets." Scott patted Mark on the back as he turned towards Phoebe who was standing anxiously in the corner. He walked up to her and waited expectantly, trying not to let his frustration at his loss show. Mostly he didn't say anything because he saw the worried gleam in her eyes, something was bothering her greatly.

"We need to talk," she said, "well...I need to talk...I. Look, can we just go to your room?" 

* * *

"What the hell Phoebe," sighed Scott as she leaned against him sobbing a few minutes later.

"I....I don't think I really meant to give him that idea. It's not her fault he wanted..."

"No it's not her fault," Scott said as he gently patted Phoebe's head. Obviously she had come to him as probably the only other person she could confide to. Obviously Steven was out, and confessing anything to Malachi was like telling the devil your faults. Besides, as much as he hated to admit it to himself and despite his loyalty to Steven, he shared many of her concerns.

"Why'd she have to act so scared around them. If she hadn't I never could have guessed, but it was so obvious. She got so pale, started to breath faster. It's not her fault! It's just it got me so mad, that he would chose her instead of me!" She looked up, her eyes wide with fear, "you don't think I bore him now, you don't think I'm old and worn out to him!" Scott brushed her long red hair gently. He knew well the feelings she was having. The worried thought that Steven would turn his back on them and leave them alone without him. He too lay awake in bed and faced the same fears.

"No Phoebe, I don't. It was probably just an impulse thing," Scott's face twisted slightly at the words. Phoebe nodded, then she began sobbing again.

"Oh but I did it, the research checked out. I didn't really mean for her to have to deal with anything like what he has planned!"

"He'll make her forget it again, just like everything else he's done to her." Scott wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Phoebe, or himself. There had been so much blood, if the transfusion had been much slower....he remembered the torn clothes and her weak shivering attempts to keep their hands off her. He remembered what Steven had done to her before feeding. He remembered her frail and begging sobs and screams. He remembered her pale, fragile, and helpless face as she lay there coughing up the blood. He had never seen the boss like that.

"But what about those dreams you were telling me about? What if she does sorta remember it. Oh! Did you see her earlier tonight, she looked like if you just breathed too hard you'd blow the life right out of her! I didn't want to do it......I don't know what I wanted!" Phoebe's head sank into his chest as she sobbed. Scott patted her back gently, trying to calm her. As he did he spotted the dark shape that lurked outside of his now slightly open door. Malachi. He frowned, he hadn't even heard the door open, and he suspected he only saw Malachi because Malachi wanted him to. Sick freak.

"Hey Phoebe," Malachi half growled. "Don't worry, Steven won't let her die. He still needs her for....sessions." Phoebe turned, her eyes ablaze as she snarled at the lethal killing machine.

"That's not the point you....you!" Scott grabbed her and pulled her away to sit down in the chair nearby before she said something she'd regret. Which was probably exactly what Malachi wanted. Scott walked up to his door and looked at Malachi. Malachi's eyes locked with Scott's. He grinned wickedly at the ghoul, his face twisted into a dark leer. Scott slammed the door shut. 

* * *

She was laughing, the wind ruffled through her hair as she ran quickly along the soft grassy plain. She looked up and waved at her brothers as they gave chase. Father had sent them to get her back, but she was having too much fun. She laughed again as they both tore after her. But she had a good head start, her long legs flashed in the dim morning light as she leapt down a small path. She heard them shouting and laughing behind her. But she didn't plan to make this easy.

She rushed over to the stables, she ran along between the rows of stalls. The horses shook and woke at her giggling passage. She stopped before Midnight's stall. The big black horse opened one eye and nickered softly at her. She smiled, Midnight had been her horse since she was a little girl, she grinned as she scampered over the stall and slipped into the back corner. She held one finger up in front of her lips, urging Midnight to secrecy. He shook his head, but didn't offer his opinion of her actions.

She heard her brothers, they were whispering her name and promising to catch her. She giggled. Suddenly their faces were peering over the stall, faces smiling as they discovered her. She stuck her tongue out, come and get me she sulkily told them. They opened the stall. One shook his head as he patted Midnight's flank. The other grinned as he reached in for her, she giggled and screamed while batting at his hand. Midnight's ears dropped back, he seemed to grow tense. Her brother stopped smiling and glanced at the big creature. She didn't notice and screamed at him again, still smiling.

The horse bucked, powerful rear legs slashing out to slam into her brother's back and head. He crashed against the wall and collapsed on top of her, his face now dripping blood. The crimson drops spilled down onto her. She screamed again, her other brother tried to calm the angered horse. It didn't work. Midnight reared, powerful forelegs lashing and stomping. She screamed as she struggled out from under her brother's terrible bloody face. Midnight stomped and pounded on the limp form in front of him, the young boy no longer moved. She screamed, she rushed forward, a powerfully muscled haunch thumped into her, spinning her back to slam into another wall. Rear legs kicked, hooves smashed into her back. She howled as she felt the pain and heard the popping splintering of bones. She collapsed gasping for air, but she couldn't seem to get any. Her mouth gulped, there was nothing to breathe! She closed her eyes and just began to cry, the massive and dreadfully powerful horse still bucking and snorting above her.

Horses bounded and pushed around her, she gasped in nearly heart stopping fear. They became more agitated, she desperately tried to push herself away. But a cold pair of hands held her there, a dark voice whispering and demanding in her ear. She cried and struggled, the horse's flashing eyes and flaring nostrils surrounded her. The powerful and lethal muscles pressed in on her from all sides. No room, no room to breathe! She gasped for air, breathing in the heavy scent of the horses. Their eyes flared, blood covered their legs. They bounced and jumbled around her. She clamped her lips closed, must be silent, noise angers, noise and death, death, anger. She shook her head wildly, the voice wanted her to talk, but if she talked then the horses...

A light was shining in her eyes. Mia weakly blinked and looked up. Phoebe was standing nearby, she had just flipped on a lamp. Mia whimpered and rolled over, it was way too early to get up. Phoebe patted Mia's damp forehead with a soft cloth, wiping away the sweat there. "Are you okay," Phoebe asked in a soft whisper. Mia groaned, she felt like she had been beaten half to death, she felt weak, drained, so very tired.

"Am I sick," Mia winced at the sound of her own voice, it sounded thin and strained. Phoebe forced her to sit up and then proceeded to force some simple soup broth down her throat.

".....Yes....you caught a very.....nasty episode of something."

"Ah," Mia looked over at the clock, it was half past midnight. For some reason she shuddered at the thought. Her entire body started to shake and shiver. Phoebe looked at her in concern as she pulled the heavy warm blankets further over Mia.

"You should rest....I....I'm sorry." Phoebe shifted nervously, looking at Mia with a mix of compassion and guilt. Mia shrugged and managed a weak smile.

"S'kay, you had to get some food in me sometime." Mia noted that Phoebe hardly seemed to feel better at the apology. She clasped her hands together, the fingers twisting and entwining with each other.

"You should be careful," managed Phoebe finally, "the boss, he's upset."

"I'd imagine so. I went and got sick on his time. He must be annoyed he's not getting his money's worth out of me." Mia sighed, she didn't feel like going back to sleep. Actually she seemed vaguely thankful she had been awakened. "Hey Phoebe, could you help me into my chair, I don't think I want to go to bed again." Phoebe didn't seem pleased at the thought, but helped Mia into her wheelchair anyway. Mia was shocked at how weak and strung out she felt. She shifted her nightgown around herself and had Phoebe wheel her into her workroom.

"I'll be real close, in case you need anything. Anything at all," Phoebe stammered as she backed out of the room. Mia shook her head, wonder what's gotten into her? Mia then wheeled over to the bookcase to continue some research. For some reason she figured it might help to just relax and read a book. It didn't. Next she tried to pay some attention to the next piece in Steven's collection, for some reason it just started to aggravate her to look at it. She moaned, she couldn't remember the last time her work hadn't infused her with energy. She needed some sort of rush, like when she had worked on the vellum restoration....Mia suddenly half grinned. Of course! She still needed to translate them! She hummed happily to herself as she carefully pulled out the soft golden sheets and smiled down gently at them. 

* * *

"She needs rest," said Phoebe without hesitation. Scott nodded, as did Ivan. Steven frowned and ran a hand through his hair.

"I was so close, I know I was. Why won't she just talk to me?"

"I could make her talk," said Malachi softly.

"C'mon boss," Scott said, daring to slightly cross the line. "You saw how she was when you got her in there, she curled in on herself and would barely even whisper!" Steven nodded, it had been an unexpected response. Taking her into the stables had been such a good idea. He had hoped she'd say anything to get out of there.

"Obviously some facts of the event are unknown to us," he sighed.

"I could make her scream too."

"But," said Steven nodding to Scott, "I noticed she did desperately babble to you when you were putting her to bed."

"That was nothing, nerves."

"Hmm, perhaps." Scott turned away nervously as Steven quietly watched him. Steven smirked and nodded his head. "I think I have another idea for our dear Ms. Chasten."

"Could make her make all sorts of noises."

"She still needs rest," cut in Phoebe desperately, "if you push her again tonight it could kill her. She's not holding on by much."

"Very well," sighed Steven, "she gets a night of rest, then. But, tomorrow we shall see. Remember, if we keep her past the agreed upon time it could raise more problems. Her friends are persistant enough as is. I would hate to have to complicate things more." They all nodded. Steven turned and walked out, the others trailed after him. Only Malachi remained, still crouched on top of the fireplace.

"Oh I could make her sing....and I will," Malachi grinned darkly as he hopped off his perch and followed the others. 

* * *

"I'm going to have to demand to speak with her," Hibbert growled for the third time. "I can't let them just shove me away like that again. I have to be forceful." Antonio and Carl watched as Dr. Hibbert paced nervously in his small and cluttered office. The walls were hung with dozens of items and photos from across the world. All collected and seen by him on his varied trips for Tintagel's. "I just need to see her, I'm sure she'd be happy to let me get her out of that damned house." 

Antonio nodded, he didn't like the thought of poor Ms. Chasten in that house. There was something wrong about it. Hibbert had convinced him to help easily, Antonio cared deeply for her. Carl had been recruited because he too cared about Mia, and had actually even asked her out on a date once. A feat that had never been duplicated by any other of Antonio's men, much to their annoyance. Though from Carl's story she spent most of her time discussing history and artifacts over anything else. There came a knock at the door.

"If you really want to get her out of that house you will need help," said the deep and powerful voice. They looked over at the two men in the doorway. One was small, dark, and oily, seeming as trustworthy as a snake. The second was built like a gorilla. His dark and penetrating eyes skimmed over their faces, easily seeming to judge and evaluate each of them. He grinned. "If you would be willing to listen for a few moments. I believe I can arrange a mutually beneficial solution to our combined problem of Mr. Kleist." 

* * *

"You are mine now, I take and claim all that you shall ever be bitch!" Mia gasped as the hand closed around her throat, choking off her air. The other hand pawed around her chest, running over her bare flesh. She gasped and cried in pain as she thrashed about weakly on the floor. Why was this happening? What had she done? Her mind seemed to drift in and out of focus, Mr. Kleist did the same. One minute smiling, gentle, offering her some wine. The next bestial, spitting, forced on top of her as he did what he pleased to her. Mia batted at him with her hands, she sobbed, she begged him to stop. From beyond the edge of her vision she thought she saw others. Watching. Some smiling, some frowning, others angry. At her, at him, at both? He smiled, fangs flashed in the flickering candlelight, he lunged down....

Mia jerked awake. She had fallen asleep in the workroom. She groaned and rubbed her sore neck. It was stiff from the bad sleeping position. It was sore...from other things. She couldn't shake the thought that there was something important she wasn't remembering. But she knew something was wrong. For the first time in what seemed like ages she actually felt half awake, half aware. She finally felt like her brain had caught up with her body. Something was wrong, very wrong. Why had the police been looking into Mr. Kleist's affairs. Why couldn't she remember so much of what had happened since she had come here? Why had she come here?

Mia frowned, she was usually too nervous to even accept lunch dates. Why had she agreed to spend a week in a mysterious house with a man she had just met? What had happened after that dinner? Her body shifted uncomfortably, all she could recall was him escorting her back to her room and her going to sleep. What then were these other half forgotten thoughts? Why the police? Mia knew something was very strange here. She wheeled over to her window and looked out of it. It was dark, the faint shimmer on the horizon told her the sun had just set. She paused in thought as a car pulled into the driveway. A man stepped out of it. This was the first visitor since she had come here. She wondered at the possibilities

She wheeled out into the hallway to peer over the balcony. Steven and his four guards walked up to the man and greeted him. The man however glanced upwards, almost as though he had felt her eyes upon him. "Excuse me Steven, but you seem to have a curious little bird perched in your house." Steven glanced upwards.

"Ah, Mia. It is good to see you are awake. I have plans for you later tonight." Mia shivered, something in his tone didn't seem so pleasant to her anymore. She noticed that her heart hadn't started beating like mad at his mere presence. "I would like to introduce you to a good friend. This is Octavian." The grim man bowed his head to her. He was dressed in a simple brown suit and black tie. A large overcoat was draped across his shoulders. But something in his eyes suggested there was more to him. Almost the same feeling she had felt from Steven. She waved slightly to him.

"Hello, nice to meet you."

"You do know that you're wearing a nightgown," said Octavian with a slight twist of his lips. In humor or distaste she wasn't sure.

"I, uh, of course I knew that. I was just.....going to dress." Mia nodded to them. Yes, the wild beating of her heart was gone. It's absence left her with a cold wonderment of her previous awe of Steven. He was still handsome no doubt. But now it was a cold and menacing elegance in his features and eyes. A menacing feeling churned in her gut as the buzzing raced along the base of her spine. She knew now, without a doubt, that something wasn't right here.

"Yes go shower and dress," urged Steven, "I will be about an hour here, but when done I would very much like to speak with you." Octavian glanced at Steven. Mia felt there was some judgment within that look. He glanced up and nodded at her again, she waved and smiled as she slipped into her room. She counted to twenty and then peeked out of her door. They had all headed into the sitting parlor. Time for answers.

"Don't go into the basement huh," she muttered as she swung into the elevator. She had to admit she felt some trepidation at actually pushing the button. Almost as though betraying Steven would be a terrible thing. She gritted her teeth, the buzzing increased in her lower back as a tingle filled her head. Then the tingle was gone and the buzz faded again. Mia blinked a few times and wondered at the strange sensations. She then casually pushed the button. She hoped she could find her answers down here. Or at the very least a reason to call someone. The police, Fiona, Dr. Hibbert, even Antonio. Someone who would listen and get her out of here.

The elevator ride was short and silent. The doors opened into a whole new level of the mansion. Mia peered through the darkness of the rooms, Steven apparently didn't leave them lit. She cursed herself for not thinking to bring a flashlight as she rolled down the hallway. The first few rooms appeared to be storage, containing large collections of ancient and old items. Mia shook her head in awe, Steven had enough stuff in here to keep her busy for months. Of course that might have been his plan, she thought with a frown.

The next room proved far more interesting. It was crammed with rows and rows of shelves, filled to overflowing with papers and files. Mia grabbed one of the nearest, a bank statement. The next was another statement, but a different bank, the third yet another bank. All under different names. Mia frowned, tax evasion? Was the monster who seemed to be taking over her dreams the big bad bogeyman of tax evasion? Mia frowned and returned the papers. She wheeled towards the back of the room, how far back did this nut keep his records? She paused in surprise and carefully pulled a file off a shelf. It was a bank statement, from 1893. The signature was the same as the more recent files she had looked at.

Mia blinked as she tried to assemble the evidence. It wasn't making much sense. Was Steven some sort of impostor, a con artist who had stolen an entire past? But the paper had really been old, and the signature appeared authentic to the date. Mia wheeled out of the room and proceeded deeper into the winding maze of dark rooms. The only illumination now was a few halogen bulbs set at wide intervals. Their stabbing flares of white light failed to properly dispel any of the gloom of the massive basement. She peeked into the other rooms as she passed. Most appeared to be simply more storage, a few contained collectibles ranging from art to ancient torture devices.

She wheeled into one such room to eye the pieces. Unlike so much in the mansion these items appeared to have been well maintained. If she hadn't known better she would have sworn the torture devices were only recently made. Still liking and maintaining them wasn't a sign of any true wrongdoing. She eyed some of the art curiously. It was all Germanic in style, and from the 16th and 17th centuries. She picked up a chalice and murmured in amazement. It was a piece with the crest of the Kleists. Obviously Steven had spent a great deal collecting up even apparently mundane items from ancient estates of his ancestors. But why only from this particular time period?

She turned and paused as she spotted a large painting prominently displayed in the room. She wheeled closer as she eyed it. The painting depicted a stunning young woman with long red hair and pale hazel eyes that almost seemed to tinge to lavender. Standing next to her was a handsome man, his finely trimmed black beard and hair framing his noble and stoic face as he smiled slightly. The inscription read "Cordelia Kleist, beloved of Steven Kleist. May our love be eternal. 1730". Mia would not have been so amazed had not the man so closely resembled Steven, and the woman Phoebe. She rolled back from the picture, it had looked authentic. Was then Steven a loon? Did he seek to recreate himself into the image of some long dead ancestor? She wheeled out of the room, her mind churning the evidence in her head. 

Then she thought she heard the elevator hum. She paused to listen. It stopped. She let out a slight sigh and cursed her overactive nerves. Then the hum came again and grew louder. Then a new sound, the hiss of doors opening. Somebody had called the elevator up and come down to investigate. Mia almost slapped herself, she should have sent the elevator back up a few levels, to leave it in the basement would invite suspicion. She wheeled into the closest room and sat there quietly, barely daring to breathe. 

"Come out, come out little mouse you louse," came the hissing echo through the halls. Mia's eyes widened in terror. There was no mistaking that cold voice. Cook had come after her! "I smell you ya know, I smell your fear. It's good that you're afraid. Shows brains.....maybe I'll show you your brains." Her eyes looked around the room for any sort of defense or place to hide. But the room was little more then a strange display room. And all it seemed to display was an open coffin. A finely furnished coffin, but empty and useless. Mia's eyes pierced further into the gloom of the chamber. There was also a large wardrobe nearby, open as well. Her eyes narrowed in wonder as she looked at the rich clothes filling it. Steven's clothes. Why have a wardrobe here?

Mia drew deathly silent as she heard the footsteps walk past the room she was in. She didn't move a muscle, she just sat there in dreadful, silent, fear. The footsteps paused, she heard a sniff, and then they walked on. Mia waited even longer before slowly letting out the breath she had been holding. She turned slightly, planning to peek quietly into the hallway. Cook was standing right there, inches from her. She managed one ghastly scream before he clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Shhh little mouse, don't want to worry the lion. He might remember the thorn, and then what fun would this be?" Mia reached up and grabbed at his hand, but his grip was like iron. She peered up at him, suspecting he had gone quite mad from the strange babble he was spouting. "I figured it had to be you. I knew you would eventually. You shouldn't be here. Naughty naughty mouse." His other hand slid up, in it he held one of the gleaming knives from the kitchen. Mia's eyes grew as wide as saucers as she looked in fear at the deadly and sharp implement.

"What should we do with a curious little mouse who has got the cheese?" He ran the knife down her cheek, then brushed it lightly along her slender throat. Mia sobbed in fear as she felt the point prod and almost penetrate her skin. She had little doubt that Cook would be more then willing to kill her. "They set out traps for mice. Snap! Then it's over.......Snap!" He reached down and brushed the knife along the soft cotton of her night gown. He smiled as he traced the small flower pattern embroidered over her belly. He slowly lifted his hand from her mouth. "Any last words mouse?"

"What the hell is going on here," she asked him coldly. He only grinned.

"Haven't you guessed yet?

"I...why should I," she paused her mind trying to retrace the past few days and nights. She looked uncomfortably at the coffin and dresser. "I...this."

"C'mon, you're supposed to be the smart one here," snarled Cook as he waved the knife in front of her. She forced herself to ignore him, forced herself to poke further into her dreams, into half forgotten thoughts. The blood, the late nights, the fangs, by God the coffin! She looked up at him, fear and terror once more in her eyes. "Bulls-eye," he smirked with a nasty look.

"I don't believe it, it's not possible!"

"Believe it little mouse. The predator smells your desperate fear, and killing you he sheds not a tear." He backed off three steps, she sat there quivering in apprehension of what he planned. His eyes seemed filled with a wild swirl of madness and evil. She shook her head weakly....he had been eyeing the patch of embroidery on her belly. The knife twinkled in the darkness. His face slipped from madness to a quiet concentration. Mia's eyes widened in fear as he flipped the knife over and held it by it's point, Cook's eyes locked on the small floral pattern. His arm snapped out, the knife hissed through the air, and slapped into the wood next to her ear. She gasped in surprise as she glanced over at the blade. "It all starts to make sense now, doesn't it?"

"No!" She forced her eyes off the knife and back to him. He leaned against the far wall, an odd grin on his face. "None of it makes sense. Why would he, you, why me?"

"Because you have something we want. And what we want we take!"

"This can't be real, you can't really be..."

"Why not!" Cook suddenly snapped forward till he was inches from her face, he never seemed to waste time covering the distance in between them. His mouth spraying spittle on her as he snapped out the words. "Open your eyes! Evil is here, and we have already won the war! Humanity lost, get over it!" He grinned at her. She could no longer ignore the gleaming fangs that flashed within his mouth. 

"What....what are you going to do with me?" He smiled and pulled the knife from the wall, he held it in front of her and chuckled at the terror in her eyes as she looked at it. Mia cursed herself and forced the terror back. Forced herself to look back into Cook's wild eyes. He only smiled more.

"I'm going to be fair about this. I'll give you one minute to get away. Then I'm going to come and kill you. I'll rip your pretty soft skin up, peel it right off your helpless little mouse body. Won't that be fun?" Mia shook her head as she blinked back tears. "Ooooh but it will Mia. You'll scream, you'll beg. Then, and only then, when you're little more then a pathetic writhing bitch animal. Then I'll get the secrets the master wants out of you. And you'll be glad to tell me!"

"What secrets...I have no..."

"Clock's ticking Mia, better hurry up." She wheeled about and propelled her wheelchair into the hallway. Pumping it along as quickly as she could. Cook's mocking laughter echoing in her ears. She reached the elevator in moments, slapping the buttons madly as she sobbed in fear. In the distance she could hear Cook's cold voice loudly counting down. He had already reached thirty. The elevator hummed as it rose to the great hall. She quickly slapped the emergency stop button, freezing the elevator in place. Mia burst out, looking around desperately. The hall was empty. She frowned, only moments to choose. Should she shout for help, get a phone, get out of the house? Mia grabbed the nearest phone and quickly dialed 9-1-1. She dropped the receiver to the side of the phone as she sped straight for the front doors. The front steps nearly shook her from the chair as she bounced wildly down them. 

She ground down into the gravel driveway and began racing for the front gates with all her strength. Police would be coming, people would be out and about. If she could get through the gates, out into public. Then she would be safe. She gasped in fear, trying to tell herself that this was just another nightmare. Soon she would awaken, soon she would be free of this terror. But....no, it continued. She heard the barking and howling, heard the distant pounding of sleek, muscled forms tearing along the grass and gravel of the vast yard. Cook had released the dogs, beasts that Phoebe herself had warned Mia of.

The fallen branch caught suddenly in her spokes. Mia managed only a gasp of surprise as she was hurled forward to land solidly amongst the sharp and hard gravel. She groaned as she tried to drag herself up, her arms were scraped and bleeding, her nightgown torn in many places. She sobbed as she tried to pull herself forward, she heard the dogs, they were very close. With a shuffle and swish the lead dog tore past her, fangs clamping on part of her sleeve and shredding it as he tore it easily off her. Mia screamed, the other dogs were on her!

The massive and dark rider burst from the shadows. The huge and powerful horse snarled and lashed out at the dogs. A snap of a long riding crop rang out as the rider too beat the dogs back. The deadly hounds howled in anger at loosing their prey, but recognized they could not prevail. They withdrew back into the dark night. Yet they stayed close, waiting for an opportunity to strike again. Mia's eyes clenched shut at the sight of the horse, she curled up, desperate to escape. Only wild and whispered mutters escaped her lips as she rocked side to side slowly.

She heard the rider dismount, felt the strong hands pull her up...up....UP! She was on the horse! He was behind her, his arms now like a prison holding her trapped within them. Powerful muscles churned beneath her. Sharp and hard hooves tore into the ground. Mia screamed, she screamed till her throat went raw and her voice failed her. The rider galloped along, rushing her back towards the stables, the small wooden building seeming to her to be the very gates of hell.

Then.....it was over. The rider stopped and pulled her off after him. Mark grabbed the reins of the horse and led it quickly away into the dark stables. Mia was lifted up in strong arms and turned away. She glanced up weakly at the man holding her, Steven's smiling face looked back at her. Her cheeks were stained with blood and dirt. Streaks formed in them from her tears of fear and terror. Her gown was torn and bedraggled, she clutched it about her as she shivered roughly. Her head cocked and turned about her, taking in the faces. They were all there, Phoebe, Scott, Mark, Ivan, William, Cook, and Steven. Steven, who still held his riding crop and was looking so compassionately at her.

"Here, I must say you had yourself a fright. Are you well?" He glanced her trembling form up and down, he still held her easily in his arms. "No, I suppose not, not at all. Come, let's get you inside quickly, you need tending to." He carried her as easily as one might carry a scared and wet cat, weak with exhaustion. Mia felt her head swimming, again felt the nearly irresistible urge to love and obey this man. She was so safe in his arms, so warm, so secure. She rested her head softly against his chest, certain that she could drift off safe and sound. Sound. No sound. Her ear rested squarely over his chest, yet she couldn't hear it. Couldn't hear a sound from it at all. None to be expected, from a heart that didn't beat.

Mia screamed again, she struggled, she clawed. Steven muttered a curse as she tore at his eyes and he dropped her roughly back to the hard ground. Sirens. She heard the sirens! Police, safety! She scrabbled and crawled along the ground, pulling herself along on bloodied and worn fingers. Steven cursed again, he was yelling. Scott was yelling, Ivan and Mark were running, Cook was laughing, Phoebe crying. The body slammed her hard onto the grass, a great weight on her. She couldn't move, it pressed down hard. No room to escape, no room to breathe. No air.

Cook grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up roughly, she would have screamed if she had the breath. But Phoebe was screaming and yelling for her. Scott said something loudly and stepped forward. There was a blur of motion, Scott staggered back from the blow. Cook striking quicker then the eye could follow. He leaned down and hissed in Mia's ear. She could only understand one word. 'Snap!' The knife swept across her throat in a smooth and elegant curving line. The rich red blood spilled out of it to coat her soft white throat fluidly. It soaked into her nightgown, the gleaming red mixing with the filthy off white. 

Mia gasped, and tried to breathe in, she breathed blood instead. No air.....no....air. The flaring and excruciating agony from her throat and her befuddled senses from lack of air sent the world into a spin. She looked down at her blood sodden nightgown. The colors of the gown, the dirt, and her blood were mixing to create a lurid and gruesome purple shade. Mia couldn't help but half smile. Her thoughts danced in her head as her vision swirled away into empty darkness. Purple, the color of royalty in Rome and most Medieval era kingdoms. Known to Native Americans as a color of magic. The hardest of shades to create a dye for. First developed in.... 


End file.
